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Porty years after Mamaife 




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\sented to 



BY TSE AVTROB.. 



COTTON'S KEEPSAKE 



POEMS 



ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS, 

By EEY. judge A>^J*^' COTTOl^, Philom. 

TO WHICH IS APPENDED 



A SHORT AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

OF THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR, 



AND A CONDENSED HISTORY OF THE EARLY SETTLEMENTS, 

INCIDENTS, AND IMPROVEMENTS OP THE COUNTRY, FROM 

THE EARLY SETTLERS THEMSELVES, AND FROM 

OBSERVATION AND EXPERIENCE IN IT, FOR 

THE SPACE OP FORTY YEARS LAST PAST. 



" My little book 
Go forth, -with serious style, or playful ^ace, 
Winning young gentle hearts: and" bid them trace 
With thee the spirit of love through earth and air 
On all the children of our mortal race. 
So do thy gracious work ; and do it full and fair, 
Leaving, like angel guests, a blessing everywhere !" 

JVlART HOWITT. 

"Poetry is itself a thing of God ; 

He made his prophets poets ; and the more 
We feel of Poesy do we become 
Like God ia love and power." 

P. H. Baiiet. 



r 



CINCINNATI: 

PUBLISHED FOR THE AUTHOR, 

BY APPLEGATE & CO., 

1858. 






H 



Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1858, by 

A. J. COTTON, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States 
for the Southern District of Ohio. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



Although tlie subject of most of my Poems, and 
the incidents recorded in my little book are mainly 
located in Dearborn county, Indiana, yet those in- 
cidents being common throughout the Great West, 
it is thought and intended to be a work of such a 
general character, as to merit a liberal patronage 
and a wide-spread circulation. Such a picture of 
human life, as it is, has never before been presented 
to the public, from Adam down to this time. 
Read it and see. 

Accidents and sudden deaths, suicides and mur- 
ders, turkey, deer and moose, bear, wolf and 
panther, rattlesnake, copperhead and Indian sto- 
ries, with which the Historical portion of it will 
abound, are always interesting, everywhere, and to 
everybody — which, together with its originality, its 
oddity, its variety, and its truthfulness, will, it is 
confidently hoped and believed, make it emphati- 
cally " the book for the times/' and " the book for 

the multitude." 

The Author. 

(3) 



INSCRIPTION 



My dear and venerable mother, I am about to publish a 
little volume of my own original poems, together with an 
autobiographical sketch of my somewhat honored, eventful, 
and (I would fain hope) somewhat useful life, and such 
other matters and things as I may deem most useful and 
interesting, which I design as "a keepsake" for my very 
numerous and very kind "kindred and friends," as well 
now as after I shall have passed from earth away. And to 
whom should I inscribe it but unto thee, my precious and 
good mother; for my earliest and most cherished remem- 
brances are of thee. 

At thy maternal knee I early learned to fold my little 
hands, and use my infant tongue and lips in prayer; to 
"remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy:" in fine, to 
"remember my Creator in the days of my youth." The 
early moral and religious training Avhich I received at your 
hands (in unison with my lamented and ever cherished 
father), has exercised a restraining, saving, holy influence 
over me in all my wanderings " to and fro in the earth, and 
up and down in it," at home and abroad, in sickness and in 
healtn, in prosperity and in adversity, in honor and in dis- 
honor, in lile and (as I once verily thought) in death; and 
now is my stay and staff through grace, while bowed down 
with infirmity 1 stand upon the crumbling, trembling verge 
of "that uncliscoveied country from Arhose bourne no trav- 
eler returns." 

Mother, thus early instructed I early sought God, and 
found Him precious to my soul; and for more than forty 
years I have lived in the hope, and it has been my daily 
prayer, and now is, that 

(5) 



b INSCRIPTION. 

When the closing scenes of life prevail, - 

And health and pleasure all shall fail, 

All that a foolish world admires, 

Or passion craves or pride desires — 

At that important hour of need, 

Let Jesus be my friend indeed; 

His soft hand smooth my dying bed, 

His arm sustain my drooping head. 

And when the closing scene is o'er. 

And time with me shall be no more, 

Bear my triumphant soul away 

To fairer climes of endless day. 

For such a hope, so full of bliss, 

I give to God my all in this; 

I would be His in every part, 

Nor give Him less than all my heart. 

Had my moral culture been neglected, had I been raised 
in infidelity, this hope and these joys, peradventure, would 
never have been mine; nor the world itself made any thing 
the better, but rather the worse for my having been intro- 
duced into it 0, then, what a rich legacy you thus be- 
queath both unto me and the world in which "I live, and 
move, and have my being." 

Yes, mother! mother! thou art dear to me; 

Thy name, how sweet ! 
And oh! how much I long again 

With you to meet. 

And 0, how can I ever adequately express to you my 
heartfelt obligation and gratitude for your tender solicitude 
and care in thus "training me up in the way I should go?" 
O, I can never do it — never ! But as a faint memorial of 
that unuttered and unutterable gratitude and love I owe 
you therefor, my little book is now, with my own trembling 
and feeble hand, most respectfully, most sincerely, and 
most gratefully Inscribed to you, by your long-afflicted, very 
feeble, and perchance, vour dying son, 

THE AUTHOR. 

Mrs. Makgaket Cotton, aged 85 years. 
A. J. Cotton, aged 58 years. 



DEBICATION 



My wife, my son,^ my sisters dear, 
Brothers, kindred, friends far and near, 
I Dedicate this book to you, 
In token of my friendship true. 

There's nought in it of the sublime, 
Those lofty hights I ne'er could climb; 
Plain as it is, perhaps some friend 
A pleasant hour with it may spend. 

A medley mess I here present, 
Not worth, perchance, a single cent; 
A few odd lines addressed to foes, 
In humble verse and simple prose. 

The little gift I have for rhyme, 
I have improved from time to time; 
Since sixteen years and not before — 
Have written much and might have more. 

And to preserve from total waste, 
What I've thus written in great haste; 
I here present what I think best, 
And to oblivion throw the rest. 

Some cherished friend may look it o'er, 
When I on earth shall be no more; 
And as they read they can but see 
I loved my friends most tenderly. 

*My children all, save one son, are slumbering in the peaceful 
grave. Peace to their memory and their dust. 

(7) 



O DEDICATION. 

I should be pleased to name them here, - 
Pay them the tribute of a tear ; 
But have not space, they are so many, 
Can not name all^ and so won't any. 

My book and pen, those precious aids. 
Afford me joy that never fades ; 
And peace and pleasure thus I've found 
In great profusion to abound. 

The haunts of vice I thus would shun, 
And peace and honor I have won. 
Young men, I trust, will learn from me. 
Those sinks of woe in time to flee. 

May this memento of past days, 
Tune all our hearts to grateful praise. 
Till we shall meet to part no more, 
On Canaan's bright and blissful shore. 

We have dear friends already there, 
Where are our babes ? our kindred, where ? k 
Far, far above the azure dome. 
They wait to hail us welcome home. 

Thrice happy, holy, blessed day. 
There we shall ever, ever stay, 
With saints and angels ever dwell. 
Nor once repeat a sad farewell. 

THE AUTHOR. 

N. B. — As my lady and family have suffered many privar 
tions and hardships, in consequence of my public gratuitous 
services, I have thought it due to them to be first in the 
dedicatory list of friends, and thus I have dedicated it; my 
heart and my judgment approves it well, as I trust the re- 
flecting reader will also. 



PREFACE, 



Preface, indeed ! Pshaw ! who cares for the 
preface? Let us into the merits of the work, at 
once. Now, see here, kind reader, you don't know 
half as much about this little book as I do, nor how 
to read it with the greatest interest, pleasure, or 
profit; and, therefore, you would do well to hear 
what I have to say, before you further proceed. 

In the first place, do n't begin to shuffle over the 
leaves to hunt the pictures, for there are no such em- 
bellishments and adorning in it, because suitable 
engravings are utterly too expensive for a work of 
this kind. Beside, one good picture to the mind is 
worth many to the eye, and with pictures of this kind 
the work will abound. Read it carefully and see. 
The portraits of myself and lady you will see, are 
necessarily upon a small scale, rather smaller than I 
should like, rather smaller than is strictly necessary, 
but it is the best that I could obtain. The features 
are tolerably perfect, and true to the life. 

On introducing an old and esteemed friend to my 
lady the other day, he pleasantly remarked, " Upon 
my word. Judge, she looks young and fair enough to 
be your dausrhter." ''Doctor I take that compliment 

(9) 



10 PREFACE. 

to myself, because I have had her in my special care 
and keeping for forty years, and you see how tenderly 
and carefully I have treated and kept her." "Ah, 
sure enough," said he. Now the truth is, that my 
lady is a little the oldest of the tw^o, though looking so 
young and fair. 

As for myself, I am lank and lean, with a protracted 
illness, seventy-odd pounds below my ordinary w^eight. 
The beholder now can make such allowances for my 
lank appearance as to him may seem proper. I never 
considered myself beautiful, but portly and comely, 
and that was quite enough for me. Those, however, 
who knew us both, said that for form, size, features 
and complexion, I strongly resembled "the old man 
eloquent," that they could never see the one without 
thinking of the other ; and children often call the 
portrait of John <^. Adams, Judge Cotton. Well, we 
are alike, in more particulars than one. Both ac- 
knowledge much of our greatness and our goodness 
from our good mothers ; both poetize readily when 
aroused by any particular emotion, and if similar cir- 
cumstances had surrounded both, who knows . 

Pshaw, I reckon I don't look much like him nor any 
other man, and would not if I could. And, in truth, 
don't look much like myself, although the portrait 
looks much like me. My hand, you perceive, is not 
held in a writing position. My simple object was to 
exhibit and take along with me my old familiar friend 
and favorite, "the quill." And for the same reason 
I concluded as my good lady and I had traveled hand 
in hand together for forty years, if I must go down 



PREFACE. 11 

to posterity in a picture, I would still keep her at my 
side, and hope to live together in " that better land," 
when the duties and the conflicts of life are o'er. 

And right here I will frankly acknowledge, once 
for all, what you will readily perceive, that I have 
occasionally enriched and beautified my pages with 
" gems of thought" from other and abler pens, my 
prefatory remarks not excepted. 

Well, now I have something else to say to you, and 
that is, if you are not very careful, and very charitable 
too, you will be very apt to think that I have got 
*' the big-head," and got it bad at that, because I say 
so much about myself throughout the entire work. 
Why, bless you, kind reader, one of the main objects 
in writing my little book is to show that from a little 
ignorant and obscure boy, I have come up to be quite 
" a man among men" by close and hard application, 
a correct moral principle and moral conduct. And 
if you have the patience to follow me through all I 
have to say about that, I think I shall make that 
appear as clear as — mud — at least in my own estima- 
tion. See here, reader, if it were not for the pronoun 
/ what would be the use of Me ? I intend to show 
that I am some for the encouragement of poor obscure 
little boys and young men, and if I do n't " make out 
my case," as a law3^er would say, then " there 's no 
gumption in me," that 's all. 

Seriously, in a work cast in the autobiographic 
form, (as mine really is throughout, poems and all,) 
the writer always has much to apologize for, much 
indulgence and forbearance to ask at the hands of his 



12 PREFACE. 

readers. With himself for his subject, he not unfre- 
quently tells more than he really ought, and more 
than he really intended to say, as understood and in- 
terpreted by his readers. I, too, may have fallen 
into the same error, and find myself in the same 
predicament. And if so, it will be gratifying to me 
to know, as I do, that my aims and aspirations are 
honest and praiseworthy — and I therefore cast my- 
self with confidence and hope upon the charitable 
indulgence of the reader. But be that as it may, 
if any are amused and profitably entertained by the 
perusal of my little book, I shall not deem the or- 
dinary penalties of the autobiographer a penalty 
or price too severe or too great for the accomplish- 
ment of ends so honorable, so praiseworthy and so 
useful. 

I have already intimated that I look just like no 
other living mortal you ever beheld, nor would I if 
I could ; my friends could pick me out of any crowed, 
and my book will be as peculiarly itself among all 
the books in the world as I am among all the men 
in it — such a book as no man ever did write — 
could if he would, or would, perchance, if he 
could. And if you do n't find it so by the time you 
get through with it, just tell me — will you? "Va- 
riety is the spice of life, which gives it all its flavor." 
Nor am I insensible to the fact that both the preface 
and the book will furnish fruitful themes for " carp- 
ing critics." But, then, who cares for critics? — not 
I, indeed. Who writes for critics? not the honest 
man, for he writes for truth, please or oftend who 



PREFACE. 13 

it may. Not the good and benevolent man, for he 
writes to instruct, interest, and benefit others, cost 
him what it may. Not the brave man, for he writes 
with a fearless determination to effect and accom- 
plish some definite purpose, though ail the world be 
up in arms against him ; assured that he is rights 
he nobly dares to '^ go ahead," as I now do. And 
beside all these considerations, as " barkins: doss 
seldom ever bite," so noisy, self-conceited, whining 
critics seldom do much harm, after all — they simply 
let you know that they are on hand, and can bark, 
if they can not bite. Well, every dog ought to 
have that privilege, surely. So, gentlemen critics, 
you are at perfect liberty to barh away, and thus 
amuse yourselves to the full of your capacity to 
enjoy. And with this single suggestion, that ''it 
is much easier to find fault with any performance 
than it is to produce a better one," I leave you to 
enjoy, unmolested, the luxury of your own vain im- 
aginings, and pass. Those who have no taste for 
poesy, would do well to remember that all my 
poems are historical narrations, that they are all 
parts and parcels of real life, just as it is, a pecu- 
liarity, an originality, and a onerit found in no other 
volume of poems the world ever saw, or, perchance, 
ever will again — read them, and see. The general 
reader will best enjoy the work by reading it 
through, in course, just as I have arranged it, from 
beginning to end, and in small portions at a time. 
It is just as absurd to devour any thing like a good- 
sized book at one sitting down, as it is to gulp 



14 PREFACE. 

down, unmasticated, all that is set before you upon 
a well-spread and a well-filled table. Take your 
time — read sparingly, and masticate your thoughts 
as you would your food, for health or pleasure. The 
citizens of Dearborn will find most to interest them- 
selves and their friends in the historical part of the 
work, which will be found by reference to the Index. 
So that if they choose, after completing these prefa- 
tory remarks, they may skip over and read at once, 
and take their time for the balance. But one turn 
more before you go. 

In this book-making age, various are the causes 
which induce men to turn authors. Ambition, ava- 
rice, revenge and vanity have furnished the main 
promptings. Now, every body who knows me, will, 
of course, acquit me of all the vanity incentives, 
because my great modesty is proverbial, even to a 
fault, perchance, for one of my brilliancy of intel- 
lect and classic and poetic fame — a weakness of my 
youth which I am now too old to correct. But by 
a great and herculean effort, I have, on this occa- 
sion, so far mastered myself as to say, what is really 
true, that it would gratify me exceedingly to leave 
behind me, when " the curtain of life falls," a me- 
morial that I had once lived — something to be re- 
membered by — something to speak for me in the 
behalf of truth and benevolence — of virtue and re- 
ligion — that, in after times, it may be said of me, 
as of one of old, " he being dead, yet speaketh." 
Yet necessity^ which is the mother of inventions, 
has rather forced me into its execution at this time. 



PEEFACE. 15 

Having spent much of my whole life in gratuitous 
public services, as lecturer, orator, and minister, (see 
biography,) and utterly broken down and pros- 
trate with a protracted illness, without health, and 
measurably without means, I cast about me what 
I should do to provide for myself and family, with- 
out being burdensome to my kind and generous 
friends who had so promptly rallied to my relief, 
and really had overcome me with their liberality 
and kindness. And in the midst of my pensive 
musings, the thought, for the first time, occurred to 
me, that, as I had been poetizing all the days of my 
life nearly, upon all the most important occurrences 
that had transpired in our midst for nearly a half 
century, that perhaps I might collect my poems 
together, add a short sketch of my humble, some- 
what honored, eventful, and, I would fain hope, 
somewhat useful life — together with the incidents, 
history and improvements of the country — and pub- 
lish them in a little book, which might be an ac- 
ceptable offering to my friends — worth more to 
them, perchance, than the price of it — and, at the 
same time, relieve myself a little by the small pro- 
fits I might realize by the sale thereof. This is the 
true history — these, all considered, are the motives 
and the objects I have in view in sending my little 
book abroad into the world. If these objects and 
these reasons meet your approbation, it is fondly 
hoped that you will second my efforts, not only by 
your approbation, but by your influence and your 
dimes. 



16 PREFACE. 

The reader, who has the time and the patience 
to peruse these pages calmly and thoroughly all 
through, can not fail to see that he, whose life and 
labors are herein briefly sketched, has lived more 
for virtue and correct principles — more for his 
friends and for posterity, than he has for himself. 
His motto has ever been — 



to live well 



How long we live, not years, but actions tell." 

The work, humble and imperfect as it is, will, he 
fondly hopes, prove an acceptable oJQfering to his 
friends — a guide to the youth — a staff to the aged, 
and a fondly-cherished memento of himself, after 
he shall have ceased his personal connection with 
earth, and been '' gathered to the land of his 
fathers." 

Reader, be patient, and hear me through, if you 
can. 

From the bosom of obscurity and poverty in which 
I first drew my breath, and in which I spent my 
early years, I have, as all know, (with becoming 
modesty,) raised myself to some good degree of ce- 
lebrity in the world, and honest fame among man- 
kind. And, reader, are you desirous to know what 
were the means used, the expedients resorted to by 
me, that have proved so eminently successful ? Read 
my works and my history thoroughly, thoughtfully, 
and carefully, and you will learn it all — and in the 
mean time, will, I trust, find it a pleasant pastime, 
and derive much useful information and lasting pro- 
fit from the perusal. 



PREFACE. 17 

If mine has been a life of gratuitous toil, it hcas 
also been a life of pleasure, tranquillity, and peace. 
And I sometimes say to myself and to my friends 
that I would not swap myself off for any mortal 
man that I ever knew — large possessions and all. 
And as one has said before me, instead of falling out 
with life, and cursing the day that I was born, I 
bless God that he ever created me; and, were the 
offer tendered to me, I would engage to run again, 
from beginning to end, the same course of life. All 
I would ask, as said Franklin, should be the privi- 
lege of an author, to correct, in the second edition, 
the errors of the first. But since a repetition of 
life can not take place, there is nothing, in my 
opinion, which so nearly resembles it as to call up 
to mind all its cherished remembrances, its inci- 
dents, conflicts and triumphs, and write them down 
in a little book, such as I am now furnishing to 
myself, my friends, and my country. By thus em- 
ploying myself, I have also yielded to the inclina- 
tion, so natural to old men, to talk about themselves, 
the sights they have seen, the sounds they have 
heard, and the marvelous and wonderful exploits 
they have performed. And, as I do it at my own 
expense, I may thus freely follow the bent of my 
inclination, without being either tiresome or trouble- 
some to those, who, from respect to my age or in- 
firmity, might feel themselves bound to listen to me, 
however irksome or inconvenient it might be to 
them, as they are noiv at perfect liberty to read or 

not, just as it mav suit their taste and convenience. 

2 



18 PREFACE. 

Ordinarily, however, I do not consider myself over 
talkative in the private circle. There I choose rather 
to hear than to be heard. My friends often chide 
me, therefor — say that I am too taciturn than 
otherwise. Well, if I say the less, I think the 
more, and my friends get the full benefit of my 
thoughts and reflections in my public Addresses. 
''Hear much and speak little," is a time-honored 
adage, and full of wisdom. A man who always 
leads off the conversation, whose tongue is all the 
time upon '' the clatter," leaves his friend or his 
company none the wiser or the better for the inter- 
view. Boys, think of that, will you? 

Well, now, as " open confession is good for the 
soul," perhaps I might just as well avow it at once, 
" openly and above board," (since no one, perhaps, 
would believe me were I to disavow it,) that in the 
publication of my little book, I have, more or less, 
sought to gratify mj exceedingly modest vanity — 
(let me take breath.) Well, 

" 'T is pleasant sure to see one's name in print — 
A book 's a book, although there 's nothing in 't," 

and if the reader shall deem me personally partial 
and unfair, because I use so many big I's and little 
yoiCs, I trust at least he will do me the justice to 
say, that in all the sentiments and reflections that 
have fallen from my pen, I have been fair and true 
to truth, to philanthropy, to patriotism, to virtue 
and religion — all of which I have honestly and dili- 
gently sought to do from beginning to end. How 



PREFACE. 19 

far I have succeeded, the reader and time must de- 
termine. But see here, now — " Lest you should be 
weary and faint in your minds," it might be well to 
remember, that the preface is a part of my book, 
and the key that is to unlock it — and, of course, 
you want the preface, and I '11 give you one, with 
a good long handle to it, " so I will." 

I had originally intended to submit my work to 
the revision of an esteemed literary friend, but, up- 
on more mature reflection, as that would make the 
work more his than mine, I have concluded to send 
it abroad with all its errors and improprieties, just 
as it has fallen from my own pen, that it may be 
essentially and emphatically mine ; that my friends 
may see me in it all, and exclaim, from time to 
time, " that is just like Judge Cotton ;" and I ven- 
ture that you have said that more than once already, 
have n't you ? 

These things premised, my little book must now 
be left to work its own way upon its own original 
and intrinsic merit. It is, in all human probability, 
the last " labor and work of love" of a frail, feeble, 
old man, laudably desirous to serve and please his 
friends and his fellow men, and thus, in some sense, 
to better the human race, and who, for the great 
blessing of life and all its rich and profuse enjoy- 
ments, feels himself gratefully, morally, and reli- 
giousl}^ bound to 

Make and leave this world the better 
For having once been in it. 

And he here repeats that his highest aims, wishes, 



20 PREFACE. 

and anticipations will be amply and fully met, if his 
little offering shall aid himself a little — 

("He wants but little, 

Nor wants that little long") — 

and its effects and influences be to encourage to 
noble and virtuous actions — to rescue from oblivion 
names and scenes worthy of lasting preservation — 
to raise the general standard of morals, and to im- 
part strength and vigor to virtuous and holy reso- 
lutions. 

As I write with a trembling hand, which may be 
difficult for the compositor always to read or make 
out, and as it will be inconvenient for me to cor- 
rect all the proofs, some errors, doubtless, will ap- 
pear, which, when detected, the good taste and the 
good sense of the reader must correct ; or, if he be 
not able to correct, he may say, at least, there is 
an error at any rate, and pass as though nothing 
had happened. Yet, notwithstanding all, it is con- 
fidently hoped that errors, 

" Like angel visits, will be few and far between." 

I will say no more — I could not well have said 
less ; and if my preface, like many of my poems, 
is lengthy, I trust that you will say that 

"It is as good as it is long," — • 

and gooder too. Do n't read too much at a time ; 
it will last the longer. Reflect well upon what you 
read, and it will do you the more good. And thus 
you will realize a purer pleasure and a greater pro- 



PREFACE, 21 

fit from your investment, both of time and money — 
"so mote it be." 

And now, in conclusion, dear reader, if you have 
had the patience to follow me thus far in my intro- 
ductory and prefatory remarks, I will tax your time 
and patience no farther, but will forthwith intro- 
duce you to the work itself, which is now your own; 
so turn over at once, and read at your leisure, 
whenever you may think best, wherever you may 
find the most pleasing and profitable entertainment. 
My blessing and my prayers abide you! 

THE AUTHOR. 



22 cotton's keepsake. 



KUM AND TOBACCO. 

" Faithful are the loounds of a friend.*' 

This page falling: blank in the "due order of publication," 
I fill it with an estimate of the expense of "rum and tobacco," 
at an average of two cents per day, or $7 30 per year, which 
I loan out at compound interest; and the lad who commences 
at the age of twelve, will, on his freedom day, find his bill 
footed up at $83 00 — all worse than thrown away, to keep up 
a very unnatural and a most filthy and ruinous practice. Un- 
natural — because if "dame nature" had intended that men 
should be tobacco chewers, she would have taught them to 
swallow it as they do other nutriments; or else she would, no 
doubt, have hung a kind of slop-bucket to their chins, in 
which they could roll the filthy quid, and squirt the filthy saliva; 
fill up, and then retire and empty, and thus be decent about 
it, and not convert kitchens, parlors, and churches into sicken- 
ing "pools of filth." If she had intended men and women 
for smokers, I think she would have created them upon the 
"low pressure" principle, or else she would have inserted a 
kind of pi-ojected flue in the back of the head, which they 
could protrude through a broken pane, or some prepared orifice, 
and then they could suck away and not annoy all within the 
room with a poisonous and sickening atmosphere. And, surely, 
if she had intended the ladies to be snuff-takers, she would have 
turned their pretty noses the other end up, and then one good 
filling would do. 

If the weed be filthy, rum is ruinous; and so ruinous, that 
nothing could induce me to aid the traffic. If I had a pile of 
corn as large as the largest Egyptian pyramid, not one grain 
would I sell for ordinary distillation ; and if I had a white oak 
as big around as all Lake Erie, and so tall, that it would over- 
top the moon, without a knot or limb — plumb as a line, strait 
grain, clear rift, and sound to the core, and I could get a corre- 
sponding price for it to be made up into whisky barrels, no man 
should put the first hack into it. I would preserve it as a " flag- 
staff" upon which to unfurl "the banner of temperance," when 
her conquests were complete. If that is not " a big heap " of 
corn, and a getting into the " tall timber," I should like to 
know what is. More anon. 

N. B. — From twelve to seventy years the bill, as above, 
amounts to $3,500. 



RELIGIOUS POEMS. 



EXPERIMENTAL. 

The following lines were written shortly after I was happily- 
converted and joined the church, at about the age of sixteen, 
the first poem I ever composed or thought of composing, since 
which time I have never found much difficulty in poetic com- 
position. I give it in its original simplicity and imperfection. 
My soul was exceedingly happy, and I desired evei'ybody else 
to be happy too, and in the transport of my soul, said 



Come all my friends by land or sea, 
And I'll tell you wliat's done for me; 
I'll tell you how the Lord did say, 
Come, follow me without delay. 

The Lord did by his spirit call, 
His invitations are to all, 
His servants,* too, did woo and plead, 
That I should to my ways take heed. 

If you do not in this good day, 
The Lord will cast your soul away 
Into that dreadful fiery hell, 
With all the nations that rebel. 



*The Kev. Daniel Plummer, and others. 

(23) 



24 cotton's keepsake. 

Awakening thoughts appeared to me, 
In every object I could see ; 
And oft I heaved the deep-felt sigh, 
And felt that my poor soul must die. 

Ingratitude, my grievous sin, 
Protecting care had round me been, 
Mercy on mercies I'd received, 
Yet, the good spirit often grieved. 

Though very moral and well trained, 
To sinful pleasures I was chained; 
With God, my heart was ill at ease, 
A thought enough the blood to freeze. 

Then I did read with great delight, 
The word of God both day and night; 
Turning it over, leaf by leaf. 
To find some word for my relief. 

But as I read, more guilt I felt. 
Mine eyes to tears did often melt; 
Oft I retired for secret prayer, 
Conviction seized me stronger there. 

My life I strove then to reform. 
But could not keep my purpose long; 
Ere I's aware I'd sinned again, 
And faster bound in Satan's chain. 

I groaned and wept, and wept again, 
And often thus did I complain — 
"Wretched, I cried, with every breath, 
Who shall deliver from this death?" 



RELIGIOUS. 25 

Thus musing, I to meeting went, 
To seek the Lord was fully bent, 
And, oh ! the fountain I did see, 
While Caleb Fogg* did preach to me. 

From "Revelations," twenty-two, 
He preached to me a doctrine true ; 
Text, seventeenth verse, I will just say, 
When Jesus washed my sins away. 

Then glory, glory, I did sing. 

My soul was happy, bless my King. 

Yes, this I do remember well. 

So now the time I will you tell: 

'Twas February, thirteenth day, 
Eighteen sixteen, (1816) here let me say, 
I drank from free Salvation's well, 
My burden then from off me fell. 

'Twas thus I sought and thus I found. 
And feel that now I'm heaven-bound, 
And hope beyond this vale of tears. 
To spend unnumbered happy years. 

0, my young friends, come go with me. 
Such ample fullness I do see; 
It grieves my heart to leave you here, 
Come go, I pray you, now give ear! 

*The Circuit Preacher in charoje. 



2G cotton's keepsake. 



CALL TO THE MINISTRY, 

Composed at the age of 18, on board a vessel at sea, bound to 
the then " Far West," where I ever since have resided peace- 
fully and happily. 

Since first my sins were all forgiven, 
And I enjoyed a hope of heaven, 
I 've wept and prayed that Adam's race 
Might taste the sweets of pard'ning grace. 

I feel I have a special call 
To woo and warn both great and small, 
To shun those paths that lead to woe — 
I tremble — still the voice is — go. 

Go in my name and you shall find 
Me always near, and always kind 
To aid, direct, protect, defend, 
And I will love you to the end. 

Go blow the Gospel Trumpet loud, 
Go warn the gay unthinking crowd ; 
Go comfort those who are distressed ; 
And sympathize with all oppressed. 

Nay, even weep with those who weep. 
And feast on joy with all my sheep; 
This is my duty now I know, 
For still the voice to me is — go ! 

Well, gracious Master, here I say, 
I freely give myself away : 
make me. Lord, an instrument 
To lead poor sinners to repent. 



RELIGIOUS. 27 

And woe is me unless I do, 
So all my friends, I bid adieu : 
And journey to a distant clime, 
Whence we may meet no more in time. 

Farewell ! my parents here below, 
My Master calls, and I must go; 
Farewell ! my brothers, near and dear. 
For you I 've shed many a tear. 

Farewell ! my loving sisters too, 
A duty now I have to do ; 
Farewell ! my friends of every kind, 
I 'm called to leave you all behind. 

Farewell ! my brethren in the Lord, 
Love 's tie is not a feeble cord ; 
Farewell ! poor mourner in distress, 
All heaven is ready you to bless. 

Farewell ! ye thoughtless, prayerless crew, 

! think what will become of you, 
When God shall set this world on fire. 
And make you feel his dreadful ire. 

Come go with me, there 's grace in store, 
Enough for all, and millions more; 
With glory's port now in full view, 

1 say to all, adieu ! adieu ! 



28 cotton's keepsake, 

lovefeast hymn, 

COMPOSED AT ABOUT THE TIME THE PRECEDING VERSES WERE. 



Brethren and sisters all around 
Wliat a dear Savior I have found, 
That ever has been dear to me, 
And tells me Canaan I shall see. 

Yes, even now it heaves in view ; 
Say, brethren, is it so with you? 
Methinks I hear you say 'tis true, 
You view this heavenly Canaan too. 

Then let us for each other pray, 
That God would strengthen us to-day, 
And help us on our journey too, 
That Canaan we may ever view. 

blessed be the Lord of love, 
Who freely helps us from above; 
In spite of all our foes can do, 
The land of Canaan heaves in view. 

Let us be fiuthful unto God, 
By virtue, point them out the road 
Which leads to Christ and glory too. 
That they with us may Canaan view. 

And when we find our long-sought rest, 

May they, with us, be fully blest. 

To pain and sin, each bid adieu, 

And ransje fair Canaan throuirh and through. 



RELIGIOUS. 29 

CLASS MEETING HYMN, 

OF RECENT DATE, IN THREE CANTOS. 



CANTO I. 

! HOW I love to meet in 
This garden of the Lord : 

Where brethren all in union dwell, 
And meet with one accord. 

1 love it more than feasts of mirth, 
My brethren love it too : 

And, oh ! how rich my sisters dear, 
Its blessings are to you. 

How oft dear friends should we despond. 

And weary in the way ; 
Had we no Classmates whom we love, 

With whom to sing and pray. 

But as we hear them shouting, tell 
What grace for them has done; 

We feel like pressing on afresh, 
'Till we the prize have won. 

'tis a precious, happy hour. 

From care a sweet retreat ; 
Where we may sip rich drafts of bliss. 

And sit at Jesus' feet. 

Oh ! ye lukewarm, what folly then 

To turn your feet aside ; 
Not from the world such pleasures flow. 

As from Immanuers side. 



COTTON S KEEPSAKE. 

CANTO II. 

Let us recount what all have said, 

As we have j>assed along; 
One rises, and he says, my soul 

Doth in the Lord feel strong. 

I pray that God would keep my soul 

For ever feasting so, 
That when I 've done with this vain world, 

I may to glory go. 

Another says I 'm very weak, 

But I intend to trust 
In Him, who 's able to supply 

Each soul that is athirst. 

I 'm sorely tried, I hear one say, 

But on I mean to go ; 
And others say, I feel a spark 

Of heavenly love below. 

Thus all have passed the story round, 

Of all their cares and fears ; 
And songs of melody produced 

A rich repast of tears ; 

One speaks quite loud, and one quite low. 

Another very strong : 
Upon the whole, each one doth say, 

I mean to keep along. 

Keep on, keep on, ye valiant souls, 

The Lord is on your side : 
Those "long white robes" ye soon shall wear. 

For you 're the Savior's Bride. 



EELIGIOUS. 31 

CANTO III. 

Now to the strong just let me say, 

Leave not the weak behind, 
But in your bosom take the lambs, 

And to the "sick" be kind. 

The young shall be like "polished stones," 

The old like angels bright, 
When we shall walk no more by faith, 

But all shall walk by sight. 

Oh ! how shall words from mortal tongues. 

Such heavenly bliss declare, 
But soon, if faithful, we shall prove. 

And tell the story there. 

Thrice blessed, blessed, holy hope. 

Who would forsake his class. 
When here so much of heaven we know 

So sweet the moments pass ? 

But, oh ! the joys that us await, 

On yonder blissful shore ; 
In our sweet home high up in heaven. 

We 've Crowns laid up in store. 

Our Classmates dear, who used to join 

With us in humble prayer, 
Shall fly to greet us as we come. 

And hail us welcome there. 

Then let us all with holy hope, 

Press on — we '11 win the prize ; 
And plunge, and bathe, and bask, and swim 

In bliss that never dies. 

Decembek, 17, ISIS. 



0.9 



PRAYER-MEETING HYMN. 

SELECTED AND IMPROVED. 



I LOVE it, 1 love it, and Avho shall dare. 

To chide me for loving the house of prayer, 

I have prized it long as a holy place; 

Where my gracious Lord shows his smiling face. 

Do you ask me why I linger here; 

Why the place to me is so sweet and so dear? 

Here my soul feels safe from the fowler's snare, 

And a precious place is the house of prayer. 

A place of peace, and a place of rest, 

And of all the world this place is the best; 

Here we feast on love and abound in joy. 

Our hearts beat with hope, while our tongues we employ, 

In the praise of Him who came to save 

From the guilt of sin and the i^ower of the grave; 

His loving truth we here declare, 

Hence we love to dwell in the house of prayer. 

Here the meek and the lowly in heart agree, 
To raise the voice and to bend the knee, 
While gentle showers of grace distill 
Our hopes to cheer and our hearts to fill; 
Let the vain and the proud this place pass by. 
Let them scorn the thought to linger nigh; 
But I love it, I love it, and do declare. 
That there is no place like the house of prayer. 

No place like this beneath the sun. 
But there'll be a place in the world to come, 
Where the wicked shall not trouble the blest, 
Where the >veary soul shall for ever rest; 



RELIGIOUS. 33 

When the praj^er of faith meets its great reward,— 
And the faithful ones shall be with the Lord; 
But until my soul shall enter there, 
You will often find me at "The house of prayer." 



LINES, 

Upon the happy death of Joseph, brother of the Rev. Daniel 
and Captain Luther Plummer, so extensively and so favor- 
ably known throughout this entire community, and far abroad, 
pronounced at the close of his funei-al sermon by the authoi', 
from 1 Thess. iv: 16, 17, 18. 

And now afflicted friends, permit me here to sa}^, 
Man's days on earth are few, and full of trouble they; 
Just like the morning flower, he cometh forth to life, 
And is cut down and withered, amid the mortal strife. 

Or, like a fleeting shadow, he passeth soon away. 
And here continues not, in any certain stay. 
These solemn truths to you are amply verified. 
And but for which, you know, your friend would not have 
died. 

What evil lies concealed beneatn each earthly good, 
How kind the ways of Heaven, when rightly understood; 
Our stay on earth is short, our good with evil mixed, 
The joys of heaven are pure, lasting, holy, fixed. 

More wisdom then, by far, the pious do display. 
In making sure that treasure, that fadeth not away: 
Such was the early choice of our lamented friend, 
And 0, thrice happy he, his toil is at an end. 

Wliat glories he beholds, to Christ made priest and king; 
How lofty are his notes! methinks I hear him sing. 
His pious kindred dear, who have before him gone, 
And those who follow after, shall join the holy song. 



84 cotton's keepsake. 

With pure angelic rapture shall walk the streets of gold, 
Thrice happy, happy be, nor can their joys he told. 
How oft he used to say, while groaning under pain. 
I feel my Savior precious, O, bless his holy name. 

I call to mind his goodness, in days long since gone by, 

My soul is happy, happy, I have no dread to die. 

'T is better to depart, I long to soar away 

To wear a crown of glory in realms of endless day. 

Come, then, ye weeping parents, your dearest friend give o'er, 
With Christ he reigns immortal, nor shall he suffer more. 
How can you murmur then, or wish to call him back, 
God's precious word declares, you shall not suffer lack. 

O, may you each obtain, the sanctifying grace, 

Nor need I only add, that then you'll see his face. 

There, with the blood-washed millions, on that immortal 

shore, 
Meet all your pious kindred and reign for evermore. 

Ye weeping friends and neighbors, 0, lay these things to 

heart, 
And choose the path of virtue, and ne'er from it depart; 
Sore trials yet await you, but if these things you heed, 
You shall find grace to help j^ou, in every time of need. 

And when life's sands have run, and measured out your 

span, 
0! 'twill be joyful then, a pious life to scan; 
To rest your fainting head on your Redeemer's breast, 
And sing your conflicts o'er, and enter into rest. 

There wait for nobler joj^s, till the last solemn day, 

When Gabriel's deep-toned trump shall wake your slumb' ring 

clay. 
Then raised immortal all, and from corruption free, 
Fly up into the clouds, your Savior there to see. 



RELIGIOUS. 35 

There cast your "crowns of glory," with rapture at his feet, 
Bask in a sea of pleasure, and walk the golden street; 
And on the harps of God, the sacred poean raise, 
And through all eternity sound forth his loudest praise. 



A POETIC SERMON. 



Israel Notes, my father-in-law, and a most pious, holy man, 
and for years, one of the most faithful and beloved class 
leaders in all the regions hereabout, died somewhat sud- 
denly, with a painful affliction. At the same time his son Hugh, 
a young man, was thought to be lying at the point of death, 
and it was deemed expedient to dispense with the ordinary 
funeral services for the present. The young man how- 
ever, contrary to all appearances, survived for many years. 
The result was, however, that Father Noyes, sleeps his last 
long sleep without a formal Funeral Sermon. To supply 
that seeming neglect, or rather necessary omission, I sat me 
down and wrote out the following substitute, and presented 
it to my good mother Noyes, much to her comfort and satis- 
faction, and which she has carefully preserved until this day, 
for she still lives, and lives with me, at the advanced age of 
85 years. Father Noyes died in 1826, aged 51 years. What 
a long widowhood and separation ! And, oh ! how sweet and 
happy will be their meeting, " In that better land above." 

Text, Heb. iv : 9. — " There remaineth therefore, a rest to 
the people of god." 

There is a rest, as my text saith, 

Remaining for God's people, 
Which doctrine we shall further see, 

By tending to the sequel. 



36 cotton's keepsake. 

God's people are, we should be 'ware, 

All those who do obey him, 
Whose hearts are pure, and who endure, 

Until their race is ended. 

Rest does imply toil and fatigue, 

Or labor, grief, or sorrow ; 
The Christian's fate I here relate. 

Nor have I need to borrow. 

For if I'm right, they have to fight, 
And travel through deep water ; 

And every day must watch and pray, 
Nor have they time to loiter. 

They bear the Cross, and every loss, 
By faith, and hope, and patience ; 

But their minds soar, where these no more, 
Shall ever gain admittance. 

There they shall dwell, and ever tell, 

To each the pleasing story ; 
How they o'ercame through Jesus' name, 

To reign with him in glory. 

From toil they rest, and all are drest. 

In a white robe prepar-ed ; 
True happiness and endless bliss. 

They equal all have shar-ed.^^ 

Nor is this all, for thus saith Paul, 
(Which helps me on my story,) 

That every pain they here sustain. 
Adds to their future glory. 



Accoidlug to capacity and impi^ovement. 



RELIGIOUS. 37 

Saith John, each tear which they shed here, 

Is vialed up in heaven ; 
God's word's at stake, he'll ne'er forsake, 

In troubles six or seven ; 

But for each grief he'll work relief, 

And all shall work together; 
For their best good when understood, 

Cheer up my weeping mother.* 

joyful news these Gospel truths, 

Yes, now they do support me; 
While I do bear my common share. 

Of what I 've laid before thee. 

Here let me say, for well it may, 

Be said of our departed ; 
Husband and friend, while tears we blend, 

With those who 're mournful hearted. 

Faithful he was to Jesus' cause, 

My dear attentive reader ; 
He lived and died his brethren's pride, 

A kind beloved leader. 

I'm pleased to say, he used to prayf 

At night and in the morning; 
He bore his Cross, counted all dross. 

And gave to sinners warning. 

Though cruel foes did him oppose. 

And gloried in his sorrow. 
He now is blest with peaceful rest, — 

No troubles need we borrow. 



* In law. t In the family. 



38 cotton's keepsake. 

There in sweet lays he sings the praise, 

Of Jesus his Redeemer ; 
He's called away from th' evil day, 

To weep no more for ever. 

Why should I try more to descry. 

Or lengthen out my story ? 
I need but say, I hope one day 

To meet him in bright glory. 

A word to you his "consort true:^^ 

You 're called to wade through sorrow, 

Your husband's gone to tarry long. 
But troubles do not borrow. 

God does declare you are his care, 
And he will ne'er forsake you, 

He'll give you grace to run the race, 

Though griefs you 're called to wade through. 

You've lost a friend, a faithful friend. 
And well you may bemoan him. 

With streaming eyes we sympathize, 
With you on this occasion. 

You'll only know as on you go, 

The loss you have sustain -ed. 
When cares and tears shall crown your years. 

And earthly joys have, faded. 

Full many a thought with interest fraught. 
Will bring him fresh before you ; 

As down you glide "time's rapid tide," 
And still I must detain you. 



RELIGIOUS. 

Your kindred all are far away, ^ 

And you are left to wander 
Alone awhile, but how you'll smile, 

To meet again up yonder. 

Your children may, I hope, will pay 

To you that kind attention, 
Which shall relieve you when you grieve, 

And this in faith I mention. 

Children to you a word or two, 

As I fill up these pages : 
The loss to all both great and small, 

Can't be replaced in ages. 

No more he '11 pray for, and I '11 say 
No more he '11 give us counsel ; 

No more he'll call to see us all. 
Nor urge us to prove faithful. 

Come let us here shed each a tear 

Unto his memory sacred ; 
And all prepare to meet him there. 

Where partings will have ended. 

I well might write from morn till night 

To do his memory justice; 
But will forbear, hoping up there, 

With him to see King Jesus. 

I'd wisely choose the words I use, 

To tell you all my feelings ; 
My speech's too faint, to fairly paint 

To you the Lord's kind dealings. 

* In Maine. 



40 cotton's keepsake. 

The depth and hight, the blissful sight. 

That opens now before me : 
So tempts my heart with life to part, 

That here I end my story. 



A SONG ON THE DIVINITY OF CHRIST. 
This is the true God and eternal life. — I John, v: 20. 



Ye Christian friends of every name, 
Give ear to me while I explain 
The wonders of redeeming love, 
Which lifts my thoughts to things above: 
Jesus, my Lord, from heaven he came. 
To wash our sins and purge their stain ; 
Sure he is God, 'tis clear to me, 
Hence, I believe divinity. 

For when I felt the weight of sin, 
'Twas Jesus smiled and took me in; 
'Twas Jesus spake my sins forgiven. 
And bade me lift my eyes to heaven: 
Then in his name I did rejoice, 
I've made his ways my lasting choice; 
Jesus is all in all to me, 
For I believe divinity. 

Through grief and pain, and sorrows too. 

By him I have been brought safe through, 

In him I've taken sweet delight 

Many a day and many a night; 

And none but God, and his great might, 

Can change the darkness into light — 



RELIGIOUS, 41 

My mind once dark lie's made to see, 
Hence I believe divinity. 

And when Messiah was on earth, 
Saint Matthew citing to his birth, 
He spake the truth I humbly trust, 
Emmanuel is God with us; 
To see the wonders that he wrought, 
The deaf and blind to him were brought. 
He gave them power to hear and see. 
Enough to prove divinity. 

He said to sinners more than seven, 
Arise, thy sins are all forgiven. 
The Jews did murmur and complain, 
They called him devil with his train; 
They said that God, and God alone. 
Can do such works; and be it known, 
These Jesus did, as you may see, — 
How can you doubt divinity? 

He said to Simon, lovest thou me? 
And Simon Peter answered, yea: 
Thou knowest all things answered he. 
Thou knowest Lord, I do love thee, 
He knew all men, nor need be taught 
What was in man nor what he thought: 
He knew their thoughts, now own with me, 
Jesus and his divinity. 

He spake — ye winds, be calm, be still, 
They were obsequious to his will; 
He knew when virtue from him went, 
He taught all men they should repent. 
4 



42 cotton's keepsake. 

Said Jesus, where but two or three . 
Meet in my name and do agree, 
'Tis there I am, and there will be, — 
How clear it proves divinity. 

When to the grave where Lazarus slept, 
Our Savior came, he groaned and wept, 
He spake — and he that had been dead 
Four days, and buried, raised his head. 
These, and like works, my Savior's done, 
'Twas ne'er so seen said many a one; 
His godlike power in all we see, — 
Who dare dispute divinity? 

Show us the Father, answered some ; 
I and my Father are but one : 
The mighty Grod and Father too, 
Are, by Isaiah, termed His due: 
The Word was God, but I can't span 
How 'twas made flesh and dwelt with man 
Go read the first of John and see 
If it do n't prove divinity. 

The twentieth chapter of the Acts, 
And twenty-eighth you'll find these facts. 
The Church of God bought with his blood, 
(Of the like texts there are a flood,) 
When he was bleeding on the tree, 
He told the thief that he should be. 
To-day in paradise with me, 
Which goes to prove divinity. 

The Savior, though, would sure have died, 
If he had not been crucified; 



RELIGIOUS. 43 

No man, said he, my life dotli take, 
My life I give for my sheep's sake; 
I've power, said he, to lay it down, 
To take it up, the whole to crown ; 
A clearer proof there can not be, 
In favor of divinity. 

To see him rising from the tomb, 

The doors give way to make him room — 

Ten thousand things I would rehearse. 

Could I insert them in this verse — 

To his disciples then he went. 

And a few days with them he spent, 

They did believe unwaveringly 

The truth of his divinity. 

But Thomas said I wont believe, 
Like many people who now live, 
Then Jesus said, stretch forth thy hand 
And own that I am what I am; 
He thrust his hand into his side. 
My Lord, my God, then Thomas cried. 
Hence, he's constrained to own like me 
The doctrine of divinity. 

He is the first and he the last. 

Now hold you to this doctrine fast, 

And neither add nor take away, 

Lest ye repent in the great day. 

I feel that I am on the wing. 

My heart grows warm while thus I sing; 

This theme sets all my soul on fire. 

In heaven 'twill tune my golden lyre. 



44 cotton's keepsake. 

a song upon the day of judgment. 

BY SPECIAL REQUEST. 
*• Foe -we must all appear eefoee the judgment seat of Christ."— /Scripiwre. 



Ye nations all, on you I call, 
Come lend a listening ear, 

The judgment day without delay 
Will by-and-by appear. 

The lamb once slain will come again 

And at his sacred nod, 
A heavenly throng will come along, 

And blow the trump of God. 

In flaming fire he will draw nigher. 
Bright angels him attend ; 

And Gabriel dressed in awful vest 
Will down to earth descend. 



With one foot he upon the sea. 

The other on the shore; 
With voice profound, shall shake the ground, 

Shall shout with dismal roar 

That time is done, to judgment come, 

Ye sleeping dead arise; 
The sun retires, the moon expires. 

The stars forsake the skies. 

The grave, 'tis said, will yield its dead. 

The sea with surging wave, 
Shall wake the dead from their low bed 

Who sleep in coral grave. 



RELIGIOUS. 45 

And thus fhey all, botli great and small, 

Shall stand before the throne; 
Shall hear at last their sentence passed, 

And Time's expiring groan. 

The earth shall quake, the mountains shake, 

And all on general fire 
Shall then recede with awful speed, 

And in the smoke expire. 

Yes, this broad world by thunders hurled, 
And lightnings' fiercest glare, 

Shall quake and roll from pole to pole- 
Hark! hear the sinner's prayer. 

Rocks on us fall, and hide us all 

From Jesus' awful face; 
The judgment's come and we're undone 

Without a hiding place. 

But all in vain will they complain, 

"The day of grace" has flown; 
The rocks they try will pass them by. 

And in despair they groan. 

While thus they gaze in wild amaze. 

The Judge will frowning say — 
Depart all you accursed crew. 

And downward bend your way. 

And down they go to endless woe. 

Must bid the saints farewell; 
With demons they are doomed to stay, 

Where endless burnings dwell. 



46 cotton's keepsake. 

But to the rest, come up, ye blessed, . 

The Judge will smiling say, 
And dwell on high, no more to die, 

And sing my praise for aye. 

Then all who are by " faith and prayer " 
Prepared that hour to meet, 

Shall mount and fly up to the sky, 
And all the angels greet; 

Shall praise the Lord with one accord, 
And swell the anthem high; 

And not one tear shall there ap]3ear, 
No grief extort a sigh. 

Yes, there shall we for ever be, 
Shall shout our conflicts o'er, 

Through boundless grace see face to face, 
And reign for evermore. 

Where streets are gold we shall behold 

Our pious kindred dear; 
And shout and sing to Christ our King, 

And to his throne come near. 

Yes, perfect joy without alloy 

Awaits the pious there ; 
Lord help us all to hear thy call, 

And stir us up to prayer. 



CRIMINAL. 



EXECUTION OF FULLER 

AUGUST 14, 1821. 



This, like many other of my poems, is rather lengthy. It is 
designed to be a full and perfect narration of the tragic scene 
of which it treats, in poetic numbers. Bear this in mind 
all through, that my poems are mostly narrations, or poetic 
addresses, and consequently, lengthy, but when viewed in this 
character, they can not be deemed unreasonably long, shorter 
they could not well be, and accomplish their aim and mission 

All ye kind people pray draw near, 
Attend to me with listening ear, — 
While solemnly to you I shew 
An awful scene but surely true. 

And thou, my soul, come meditate 
Upon the scene transpired of late; 
Lord help my mind and pen and heart 
To give to each their proper part. 

Now I'll proceed and will relate, 
Near how and what took place of late; 
Two of our fellow-mortals fell, 
But whither flown no tongue can tell. 

Amasa Fuller I'll first name. 

Who from the East to this place came; 

In Lawrcnceburg he did reside, 

And there made choice for him a bride. 

Then up to Brookville he did go, 
His business there I do not know ; 

(47) 



48 cotton's keepsake. 

Nor will it do for me to say 

Much about tliis, lest I should stray. 

But while he was absent from her, 
One Palmer Warren was the sir 
Who sought himself to be her groom, 
And whom she chose in Fuller's room. 

Forthwith she wrote a line to him, 
In which she put the pledge — a ring, 
Which he had given her most free; 
"Take it," he said, "and think of me." 

The sight of w^hich, his feelings hurt, 
To think she thus should him desert; 
It pierced him to the very heart, 
When back to her he soon did start 

To seek the cause or seek relief, 
But neither found, is my belief; 
Which raised his wrath to such a hight, 
He sought revenge both day and night; 

And went about from place to place 
In open day with open face, 
Seeking for pistols sure at mark — 
The sequel hear, hark ye, hark ! 

Poor Warren, then, his victim-prey. 
He brooded o'er both night and day; 
At last he traced him to his store, 
Rushed quickly in and shut the door 

A paper, then, he did present. 
And said to Warren, " I am bent 
That you shall sign it or shall die, 
And to escape is vain to try." 



CRIMINAL. 49 

The 'mount of wliicli was thus and so, 
You've lied on me and now may know, 
That you must here your seal set to, 
' Tis all I ask or wish to do. 

Alas ! poor Warren did refuse. 
Then Fuller said you now may choose 
One of these pistols and we'll see, 
Which one shall die, or you or me. 

Poor Warren, filled with hope and fear 
His course toward the door did steer, 
When outraged Fuller aiming well, 
Discharged his piece and Warren fell. 

He groaned and sighed upon the floor, 
In his own blood and streaming gore, 
And Fuller saw his latest breath, 
In the cold arms of cruel death. 

'Twas Thursday, and upon this eve, 
He was to marry I believe, 
But view his plan — his happy scheme, 
All proved to be a fading dream. 

But to return to Fuller's case. 
And his sad story farther trace, — 
E 'er he had passed the fatal door, 
In rushed some men — say half a score. 

Ah, Fuller, Fuller, can it be, 
That you have done what we now see? 
" I 've slain the reptile you see bleed, 
And much I glory in the deed." 



50 cotton's keepsake. 

I now submit myself to you, 
With me your pleasure you may do, 
Thence they conveyed him to the jail. 
To stand his trial without fiiil. 

Soon he was tried, and "guilty" found, 
While anxious friends thick cluster round, 
The verdict was, of course must be. 
For " murder in the first decree." 

To hear the judge his sentence read,* 
Would cause a heart of stone to bleed, 
"On March the eighth and twentieth day, 
You must be hung without delay." 

Petitions then for his reprieve, 

Were drawn and sent — who can but grieve, 

One hundred just and forty days, 

Was all he gained to his amaze. 

And when the time had fully come. 
When he most surely must be hung, 
Thousands of people crowd the street, 
From every quarter here they meet. 

The soldiers, too, all had to come. 
With musket, uniform and drum, 
Nor dare one single one to fail. 
They must guard Fuller from the jail. 

The sherifi"f summoned them 'tis true, 
This painful duty he must do^ 
Not that he liked the painful job. 
But to prevent a cruel mob. 

*"Hon, Miles C. Eggleston, t Thomas Longley. 



CRIMINAL. 61 

The soldiers formed a "hollow square," 
Then to the jail they did repair, 
O how must Fuller feel, while bound 
To hear the people crowd around. 

Poor man he did free grace implore, 
'Till he perspired from every pore, 
what shall I, what shall I do ? 
Lord help me to repent most true. 

He was brought forth, what a sight ! 
To see a mortal in such plight; 
He was, indeed, most ghastly pale. 
As he came forth out of the jail. 

His arms were pinioned to his back, 
Another rope was round his neck, 
And thus he went with humble pace. 
Along unto the fatal place. 

The soldiers marched on either side, 
Good order all — all must abide, 
At length they reached the gallows there, 
Which Longley did for him prepare. 

The scaffold now he did ascend. 
As though he knew God was his friend. 
He had o'ercome his guilty fears. 
Yet bathed his cheeks in manly tears. 

The preachers, who felt for his soul,* 
Prayed for him here and in the goal. 
And him they did at once baptize, 
Before a crowd of weeping eyes. 

* Lambdin, Plummer, Fuller and Sefton. 



52 cotton's keepsake. 

The "bread and wine" to him were given, 
The symbol and the seal of heaven ; 
In duty all should be beginners, 
Since Jesus died for "chief of sinners." 

He chose a hymn which then was sung, « 
This is the way it was begun : 
"Father, I stretch my hands to thee," 
"Methodist hymn book " you will see. 

An exhortation now was given, ^ 

Like thunder pealing down from heaven, 

To male and female 'twas direct, 

No better one could you expect. 

The preachers and the sheriff too, 
Now bade him their last long adieu, 
'Twas 'nough to rend each feeling heart, 
To see how loth they were to part. 

Now Fuller like a penitent, 
Told us how vain a life he'd spent, 
All tremblingly to all did tell, 
That he had lived an infidel. 

But as I lay in yonder jail, 
This poor foundation did me fail, 
I now conceive there is but one 
Men must believe on, God's dear Son. 

And if I'm saved 'twill be through grace, 
Reflected through my Savior's face. 
Nought but his precious blood alone. 
Can ever for my sins atone. 



Rev. Daniel Plummer. 



CRIMINAL. 53 

A solemn warning to young men, 
Will follow now ni}^ trembling pen, 
"0, do not do as I have done," 
Is what he said just as he swung. 

The sheriff now to him did say, 
You have not long on earth to stay, 
Five fleeting moments, less or more, 
Will launch you from this mundane shore. 

Swift did he travel to and fro, 
So loth to strike the fatal blow, 
At fifty-nine past twelve o'clock, 
Poor Fuller felt the dreadful shock. 

When Longley struck the fatal stroke, 
Quick was the surge, and the rope broke, 
All feeling hearts it did appal. 
Flat on the ground to see him fall. 

Help men — help! the sheriff cries, 

The broken rope who ties — who ties? 

Gather him up before he struggles. 

Be quick, be quick, and close his troubles. 

Two active men went up — they fly, 
The parted rope they splice or tie, 
Again he swung, all clear from earth, — 
Be vailed in grief ye sons of mirth. 

To see him heave, hardened heart! 
When life and breath asunder part; 
That can not feel for human woe. 
With some 'twas thus, 'tis often so. 



54 cotton's keepsake. 

Yet many prayers in his behalf, 
Were offered up, while some few laugh, 
The shrieks and sighs all through the crowd, 
"Were heard distinctly, faint or loud. 

If you 'd been there, or stood near by, 
'T is thus you would have heard me cry, 
Have mercy Lord, on his poor soul 
Let heaven be its final goal. 

He 's struggling, gasping, dying — gone, 
In vain for him, his friends may mourn, 
Nor do we know that he has need. 
We trust from pain he now is freed. 

Young men and maidens look around, 
To you indeed, a solemn sound, 
O make your proper vows all true, 
Lest sin and pain are caused by you. 

Could we but know, could we but hear, 
The sorrow of his mother dear; 
When unto her the news shall come. 
That her dear son is surely hung. 

A lamentation she will make. 
Enough the heart of stone to break, 
How shall I drink this bitter cup ? 
And give my son for ever up. 

His brothers dear, could we but spy, 
And sisters, too, hear how they cry, 
Alas! poor brother, fare you well, 
Our sorrows surely none can tell. 



CRIMINAL. 55 

could we know what parents know, 
When their dear children from them go, 
They mourn, they weep, they sigh, they grieve, 
When children take their friendly leave. 

They view the world, filled up with cares, 
Temptations here, and yonder snares, 

1 need not dwell — you all can tell. 
Who love their children wish them well. 

Come children ye, from parents borne. 
Lest they for you should weep and mourn, 
Come seek, and serve God day and night, 
That they in you, may take delight. 

Tis now high time, I must forbear, 
And I will close with this short prayer, 
Lord help us to obey thy call. 
Preserve us here — then save us all. 



EXECUTION OF JOHN BENNETT, 

AT VERSAILLES. 

As bad boys are apt to be bad men, and come to a bad end, 
I must say that the end of Bennett was just such an one as 
might rationally be anticipated. I say it not to wound his 
friends, many of whom are highly honorable. But as an 
admonition to all who desire an honorable end, to live honor- 
able and useful lives. And the tone and character of this 
Poem, has that specific end in view. To be fully appreciated 
and understood, you must consider the Author as a true old 
friend, giving him a plain talk upon the scaffold, and his last 



66 cotton's keepsake. 

and best advice on the occasion, in the midst of which the 
trap drops, and tlie address abruptly terminated. 



Oh John " I knew thee like a book," many long years ago, 

And often said, and heard it said, your days would end in woe : 

Idle, and vain, and dissolute, and vulgar and profane. 

How could you, or your friends expect, a better end to gain? 

You see it now, but 'tis too late, your race on earth is run, 

The forfeit of your life you'll pay before the setting sun. 

Bad company, you say, alas! has brought you into this, 

A virtuous and a pious life as surely ends in bliss. 

But God is good, and merciful, his pard'ning grace implore, 

The law exacts your wretched life, as I have said before. 

I would not taunt you with the crime, for which you now must 

die, 
Nor would I add a single pang of sorrow — no not I, 
But as a friend — a friend indeed, I pray you let each breath 
Go forth in prayer, that you may find, " pardon and peace " in 

death. 

* ^iJ V-} 5J i-J iiJ iif « 

Dear me, he swings, convulsed — 'tis o'er — the spirit's fled, 
And poor John Bennett, so loth to die, is numbered with the 

dead. 
Young men, a timely warning take, be sober, honest, just, 
Let your companions be the good, and God your early trust, 
So shall your lives, be lives of peace, your mem'ries ever 

blest. 
When you from earth shall pass away to an eternal rest. 



CRIMINAL. 57 



EXECUTION OF THE KELLEYS, 

AT HATVSBURGH, KY. 



Some time ago, no matter when, two brothers by the name of 
Kelly, citizens of Ripley county, murdered three men for 
their money, on board a flatboat, descending the Ohio river. 
In the language of an eminent jurist: "It was a cool, 
calculating, money-making murder, the weighing out of so 
many ounces of blood against so many dollars in money."' 
Their trial and confession, was at the time published to the 
world, in pamphlet form, under the caption of, "The Mur- 
der of Gardner and others, etc., to which the reader is re- 
spectfully referred for a full and perfect history of this bloody 
scene. It was, indeed, a most bloody and horrible scene. 
Three excellent and unsuspecting men, reposing in quiet and 
peaceful slumbers, to be butchered with axes and clubs, and 
all for their effects, by men in their confidence and employ, 
is most horrible and appalling ! What a picture of human 
depravity ! ! ! My Muse thus paraphrases upon the sickening, 
heart-rending, and fearful tragedy. 



The sordid "love of money," the root of all evil. 

Has led thousands down to ruin, and down, down to the devil. 

Men will lie, and cheat, and steal, or murder their best friend, 

To get money to hoard up, or money just to spend. 

Get money — at every hazard — get it at any price, 

To have fcioney in great plenty, se-ems so exceeding nice. 

So thought two sturdy brothers, by the name of Kelley ; 

"Who murdered their employers, and beat them all to jelly ; 

Tied weights unto their necks — sank them in the river. 

And felt themselves quite safe, now and for ever. 

The secret was their own, no one else could know it, 

Not a single bloodstain left, to reveal and to show it. 

Not so fast vain wretched, men, mind what you are about, 

'T is an old and true adage that " murder will out." 



58 cotton's keepsake. 

The very means resorted to, to ward off just suspicion, 

Are messengers divinely sent upon the holy mission 

Of waking up inquiry, of putting on the track 

The officers of justice, who pounce upon your back 

When you least expect it, and lock you up in jail, 

'Till you shall stand your trial, of which you can not fail. 

'T was so with these two brothers, both caught in their own 

trap, 
They found themselves arrested, and in " an awful snap." 
Were thence upon the charge found guilty of the deed, 
That both should now be hung the jurymen agreed. 
The fatal day arrives, they mount the scaffold high. 
With trembling in their limbs, and in their hearts a sigh. 
Confess the horrid deed — warn others by their fate. 
To shun the paths of sin, for pleasure, gain^ or hate. 
Why should I longer dwell ? enough has now been said, — • 
They both were hung together, 'till they were dead! dead! I 

dead ! ! ! 
A life of sin and shame thus found a fearful end, 
Be virtuous little boys, I pray you as a friend. 



PENITENTIARY— THE YOUTHFUL CONVICT. 

Several years ago, as I was descending the beautiful Ohio, 
on my way South, I called at Jeffersonville, and went all 
thi'ough the State Penitentiary, which is a large stone 
building, of thick walls and heavy massive doors, with 
bolts and bars and heavy iron grates, to keep all sure and 
safe who are sent there to be punished for crimes and mis- 
demeanors. There were men of all ages, and from every 
part of the State, torn from friends and home, and doomed 
to toil and privations, and to sleep in dark, gloomy cells 
"under lock and key," because they did not "remember 
their Creator," nor seek and serve Him. how I pitied 
them, and wept for them and the friends they had left be- 



CRIMINAL. 59 

hind to mourn and grieve for them. But my heart was 
most affected at the sight of a little boy, about fourteen or 
fifteen years old. He -was sitting in the shade, out in 
the brick yard, -wringing his hands, and weeping as 
though his little heart would break, trembling all over 
as though he would fall all to pieces. On inquiry, I 
learned of the Warden that he arrived there the evening 
before, on a charge of stealing a pocket-book, containing 
some fifty dollars; that he had taken him out in the yard 
to bear off brick, but that his grief and excitement had so 
overcome him that he sunk under it ; that he had ordered 
him into the shade until noon, when he should take him 
back and leave him in his cell until he had a little re- 
covered from his prostration, and become a little more 
familiar with the scenes around him. This, certainly, was 
exceedingly kind. I appx'oached the lad, and laying my 
hands gently and fondly upon his head, in soothing terms 
I attempted to encourage and comfort him; that his year 
would soon pass away, when he would be free, and I hoped, 
would yet be a good boy and make a fine and useful man. 
But the more I sought to comfort him the more he wept 
in the bitterness of his soul. " 0, I wish that I were dead, 
My mother ! Oh, dear mother." My own heart was greatly 
moved and affected, and I, too, "wept like a willow,"' in 
unison with him. But do you ask how it occurred that so 
young a lad happened to be sent to the Penitentiary and 
not to the County Jail? I answer: from what I could 
learn he was one of those bad boys who are always in 
mischief, and none could control him. He was saucy and 
impudent to his poor widowed mother; would fight and 
quarrel with his little brothers and sisters and all his little 
schoolmates; would use most profane language, violate the 
Sabbath, and young as he was, would drink and gamble, 
which prompted him to steal; led on by wicked men and 
wicked associates. And as neither parent nor teacher 
could manage him, the jury sent him where he must obey; 
hoping that he might thereby be reformed and made a use- 
ful man. I know some just such hateful boys, and if they 
too, don't get to the Penitentiary, it will be a great wonder. 



60 cotton's keepsake. 

My little reader, I hope you are not one of. those saucy, 
impudent, ungovernable bad boys; if you are, I pray you 
to reform immediately, so that " iniquity prove not your 
ruin." I made some verses about this little boy in the 
Penitentiary, to which I will now inti'oduce you, and hope 
you will read and consider them well, and commit to mem- 
ory, at least the last two verses, not for the beauty of the 
poetry, but for the good and wholesome advice they contain. 
Referring to the lad, I say : 

The like before I had not seen, 
Such mental woes and anguish keen, 

My heart affecting ; 
Laying my hand upon his head, 
Young man, I kindly to him said — 

Cheer up! expecting 

By-and-by to be set free, 

Then home and friends again you'll see — 

Each sister, brother. 
But more he wept, and sobbing said — ■ 
"0 dear, I wish that I was dead, 

But for my mother!" 

It was, indeed, a painful sight, 
To see a youth in such. a plight, 

And hear him sighing, 
As though his little bursting heart 
Was pierced all through with sorrow's dart, 

And he was dying. 

For, far from home and all he knew. 
In that strange place what should he do 

With thieves and robbers ? 
Where chains and bars and felons' cells, 
The tale of woe and sorrow tells 

Of convict-jobbers? 



CRIMINAL. 61 

His streaming eyes and acliing heart 
Proclaimed aloud — the better part 

Is to be honest. 
Transgressors' ways are very hard, 
Says "the good book" — so says the bard. 

Be honest — honest. 

This hapless youth to error prone, 
Must spend a year here all alone, 

For stealing money. 
Yet, there are those who think it smart 
To lead astray the youthful heart; 

Aye, think it funny. 

How good it is in early youth 
To bear the yoke of gospel truth, 

And be religious ; 
As has been often truly said, 
'Twill save the heart and save the head 

From woes prodigious. 

Youths of the land, be wise, be good, 
As you have oft been told you should; 

Take timely warning: 
Resist temptation to do wrong, 
I press it on you very strong 

In youth's bright morning. 



62 cotton's keepsake, 

temperance. 

In 1822 — At a camp-meeting held at Old Father Rabb's, (of 
sainted memory,) near Lawrenceburg, Jacob Blasdell, (of 
like precious memory,) asked permission, and obtained 
liberty to address the vast assembly, upon matters which he 
thought of vast moment. But what was the surprise and 
consternation of all, when he introduced the subject of Tem- 
perance, " Rum and Ruin," which he portrayed in truthful but 
glowing colors — called upon preachers and all to set their 
faces and their examples against it — it was too much— 
utterly out of time and place — would spoil the meeting, and 
he must desist, ere his message was fully delivered. But 
he had set the ball in motion, and the more men attempted 
to put it at rest, the more it wouldn't rest, but roll on with 
increased velocity and might, until all resistance was given 
up as useless, and Temperance became the great and all- 
absorbing question of the day. At first. Father Blasdell 
became a subject of general ridicule, as well in the papers, 
as in neighborhood circles. The man is foolish, said one, 
another, he is ci^azy — what a pity, ejaculated many and 
many a friend! But true to his favorite reform, he bore 
it all with christian fortitude and forbearance, as a willing 
martyr to virtue's cause. And God let him live to see the 
wonderful revolution that temperance had wrought in the 
land — himself the original moving cause, then took him from 
the field of stx-ife, all covered over with glory, " where he rests 
from his labors, and his works do follow him," He died in 
1841, aged 60 years. A plain stone marks his resting-place, 
where, of all others, there should be a monument piercing the 
very clouds. Standing beside his honored tomb the other 
day, the following were my reflections in poetic numbers : 

REFLECTIONS 

AT THE TOMB OF JACOB BLASDELL, 

Tilt Temperance Pioneer of all tlte West, who died in 1841, aged 60 yearSy loved 
and lamented by all. 

Thou honored champion for God, 
For temperance and for truth, 



TEMPERANCE. 63 

Thy efforts to redeem the land, 

And bless and save the youth, 
From all the infamy and shame, 

And all the untold woes. 
That from the poisoned fatal cup, 

In wide profusion flows, 

Have wrought a wonder in the land, 

The world " turned upside down," 
Changing the customs for the better, 

In country — city — town. 
Of all the names that are enrolled, 

High on the scroll of fame, 
I would as soon inherit thine, 

As any other name. 

Thy laurels are not steeped in blood, 

Nor in the orphans' tears, 
But mothers bless thee for their homes, 

And for their infant dears. 
And unborn millions shall accord 

To thee the meed of praise, 
And o'er thy dust, I can not doubt, 

A monument will raise. 

Although reform is not complete. 

Full well it was begun, 
And spread it well, until the field. 

Is fairly — fully won. 
True, "rum and ruin," still abound. 

And poverty and crime, 
But all are tending to their end, — 

Lord, hasten "the good time." 



64 cotton's keepsake. 

Tlie ball is on the motion still, 

And on and on will roll, 
'Till temperance shall win the field, 

And reign from pole to pole, 
The conflict, the protracted strife, 

Disasters and defeat. 
Will, in the end, all work for good, — 

Truth never can he heat. 

'Tis sure to triumph in the end, 

Though often crushed to earth, 
And of champions, men and means, 

There be a seeming dearth. 
She '11 rise again in her own strength, 

Put all her foes to flight, 
And light, and peace, and joy succeed, 

The darkness of this night. 

The forest oak, the mountain pine, 

By each tempestuous blast 
Gains strength of body, firmer root, 

And longer still will last, 
Unless it should uprooted be, 

Or part perchance asunder. 
Our temperance tree is still unscathed 

Inspiring pride and wonder. 

My faith is strong in God and right — 
Through all this smoke I see 

" The day is ours," the victory won 
Entire — triumphantly ; 

And thou of all men hereabouts, 
Deserve the highest praise, 



TEMPERANCE. 65 

From all who love the human race, 
Or saved from errors ways. 

G-reat master spirits ever have 

Been honored in the end, 
And none more justly so than thou, 

My ever cherished friend. 
God let thee live to see the day — ■ 

The day thou didst foretell, 
Then took thee from the field of strife, 

In triumph: — fare thee well. 



THE RISING SUN RIOT. 

In 1839, while I was acting Judge, there came up for trial a 
riot case, of fearful magnitude and importance. My Muse, 
thinking it a suitable subject for a lay, perpetrated the fol- 
lowing, which I here record as an interesting reminiscence, 
as also to show my views on prohibition, long before the sub- 
ject had ever been publicly mooted. The first sentiment on 
that subject ever publicly avowed, so far as I know, was my 
humble self, as far back as '39, even before the great Wash- 
ingtonian movement. Think of that reader, when you talk 
about Pioneers in the Temperance enterprise. But here are 
the verses which will speak for themselves. 



In eighteen hundred thirty-nine, 

Down at Rising Sun, 
They had a great and fearful riot. 

And mischief great was done. 
6 



66 cotton's keepsake. 

It took its rise in a liquor shop 

Where they sold out rum, 
And many used it freely, how freely! 

And all drank some. 

At the close of this mad carousal 

Some were dead, dead drunk, 
Spewing o' er the floor or goods boxes, 

Or perchance, an old trunk. 

In "durance vile," they had a young man, 

All the time in tow, 
They screwed his thumbs in a blacksmith's vise, 

And scourged him, 0, oh! 

They said, they verily believed that he had, 

Found some lost money, 
And to force confession from the lad. 

They thought would be quite funny. 

It was "a drunken, mad carousal," 

Ending all in smoke. 
And when the thing got noised abroad, 

The people all awoke. 

They rallied to the young man's rescue, 

Keproved the cruel act; 
And all of them were soon indicted, — 

I know this legal fact. 

Heavy fines were then assessed, 

And all held to bail. 
To pay up, else to replevy. 

Or march right off to jail. 



TEMPERANCE. 67 

The cost of this one riot, in time and in money, 
Was two thousand full, or more ; 

The tax on peace and morals, who, O who 
Will foot up that fearful score? 

All emanating from a license of 

A twenty dollar bill. 
Talk then about revenue, revenue, 

Whosoever will. 

When will the rulers of the land 

Be wise, humane, and just, 
Close up these sinks of sin and woe. 

Or even feel they must? 

Old echo with its wonted insolence, 

And trifling still with men, 
To this all important moral question, 

Answers back, when ! when I ! 



DIVORCE. 

Looking over my court journal of 1839, I find also the follow- 
ing memorandum : 

H vs. 11 .—BILL FOR DIVORCE. 

Testimony. — Plaintiff was married to defendant thirteen years 
ago, and took with her about two thousand dollars worth of 
property and money; got along swimmingly and happily for 
several years, at which time defendant contracted habits of 
intemperance, and latterly, for months at a time, has scarcely 
drawn a sober breath. Many have been his acts of cruelty 
and personal violence to his said wife, knocking her down 



68 cotton's keepsake. 

with chairs, dragging her about the room by the hair of her 
head: kicking and breaking her ribs, until her life was well 
nigh despaired of: the property all squandered away, sold 
under the hammer for liquor bills and bad debts, contracted 
under its influence; even the little pittance which his said 
wife would earn with her needle or at the wash-tub, was 
often violently seized and expended in drams. Plaintiff lived 
in constant fear, and was in imminent danger of life and 
limb if she longer attempted to live with her said husband. 

MANY WITNESSES. 
Decree, of cours.e, entered accordingly. 

The investigation all through, was one of deep and thrilling in- 
terest. My heart bled at every pore during the painful re- 
cital, and I made the following entry in my "note book" at 
the time, which all the curious can see at any time by calling 
on me: — 

0! intemperance! intemperance!! How many and how sad are 
thy trophies! How many tender ties hast thou severed! 
How many bright hopes hast thou obliterated ! How many 
kind confiding hearts hast thou crushed into the very dust! 
How many kind parents, good husbands, fond wives, dutiful 
children, true and kind friends, hast thou disappointed; 
made wretched, and sent sorrowing to the grave! How 
many millions hast thou squandered away ! Surely, misery 
and death thou spreadest "broad-cast" every where, and vir- 
tue and happiness fly at thy approach. How long shall these 
things be? These were my reflections, as judged and noted 
down in my journal nearly twenty long eventful years ago. 
And my sluggish muse, animated and inspired by the painful 
reminiscence above referred to, is in for a lay; and Pegassus, 
becoming restive and impatient to be off, I drop him a slack 
rein — and here goes : 



With grief and indignation too, I heard this tale of woe. 
And tears of deep-felt sympathy, all gushing forth did flow, 
It did not well become a jndge, full well, my friends, I know it, 
But as my heart so freely bled, I must and could but show it. 



TEMPERANCE. 69 

I thought of early and bright hopes, now sere, and cold, and 

dead, 
And bliss so rich and full and sweet, that had for ever fled; 
A home that once was full of joy, now full of grief and pain; 
And as I mused I deeply sighed, and freely wept again. 

With broken heart and mind and health, this once most happy 

bride 
Now seeks to be released from him who was her former pride. 
Her children and her numerous friends, deposing, intercede — 
That she no longer would be safe — they all as one agreed. 

What were the reasons, do you ask ? These were, in fine, the 

sum — 
Neglect, abuse, and poverty, all caused by using rum. 
"Rum and ruin" are allied, and will for ever be; 
Yet, there are men who peddle grog when these results they 

see. 

Their hearts are steeled and steeped in sin, they care not for 

the ruin; 
They spread "broad-cast" throughout the land, nor for the 

^ soul's undoing, — 
Monsters they are in human shape, who will, just for the dimes, 
Prepare and instigate their friends for tragedy and crimes. 

I'd sooner beg my daily bread, be clad in filthy rags, 
Than roll in wealth thus illy gained, admired by fools or wags. 
rum, what ruin thou hast wrought, how fearful is thy reign; 
And nought can check thy mad career, nought but the law of 
Maine. 

The waste of morals, time and means, and of domestic peace, 
Since prohibition was annulled has been on the increase. 
When will the people all declare such shall not longer be ? 
Time will determine that my friends, and you must wait with 

me; 
And put your shoulder to the wheel and speak and write and 

vote, 
And soon you'll see the temperance ship well manned and all 

afloat. 



70 cotton's keepsake. 

Roll on reform — thy mighty car shall triumph in the end; 
The peace and safety of the States on these events depend. 

parents rally while you may, and save your daughters dear, 
From woes that are unutterable, and from the scalding tear: 
And save youi: sons from infamy, yourselves from sad despair, 
And God in mercy interpose, is now my daily prayer. 

What language shall I use, what metaphors employ, 
To paint rum's waste and havoc, of morals, means and joy ? 
The naked skulls and skeletons, of all by liquor slain, 
Would form a pyramid that would pierce the clouds that sends 
us rain. 

Could all the tears just caused by rum, unite from shore to 

shore, 
They'd form a cataract more grand than Niagara's mighty 

roar; 
And sighs commingled all in one would silence deep-toned 

thunder — (perhaps) 
And that these things so long have been [allowed) is to my 

soul a wonder. 

Crape every planet, every star, blow out the burning sun, 
Hang all the heavens in sack-cloth too, and you have scarce 

begun 
To paint the desolation, the mourning and the woe, 
That from the liquor business has, and will for ever flow. 

This is no fancy sketch, dear friends, but demonstrative truth, 
Intended to arrest the mind and save the precious youth. 
Ye rulers and ye judges too, why stand ye here all idle? 
Up, up, and chain the monster, curb him with bit and bridle. 

Say unto him: "thus far thou mayest, but firther canst not 

go," 
King alcohol, thou mighty nag, hold up — whoa! whoa! ! whoa!!! 
Thus shall ye "serve your day ancj age," and all by rum 

made wretched ; 
And millions yet unborn, with them shall call you blessed. 



TEMPERANCE. 71 



TEMPERANCE DITTY. 

AIR, OLD DAX TUCKER. 



The Author takes great pleasure in acknowledging his indebt- 
edness to Dr. Wm. Garritson, for originating this Poem, 
which he has greatly improved and extended, so as to em- 
brace the entire Liquor Traffic. 



Ho! ye that deal in "the blue ruin,' 

pause, and think, what you are doing, 

Call up to mind the want and woe, 

You scatter wide where e'er you go. 

Get out of the way, your grog 's all poison, 

Against it all the world 's now rising. 

Of all pursuits that has ever been, 
Retailing grog is the meanest thing ; 
'Thas caused more misery pain and woe, 
Than ever from one source did flow. 
Get out of the way with your " blue ruin," 
What on earth are you all doing? 

Now those who make just all they can, 
And those who deal it out to man. 
Alike are foes to the lovely fair, 
Would all would quit it is my prayer. 
Get out of the way both makers and sellers. 
You've ruined "lots of clever fellows." 

You' ve spread distress on every hand, 
And scattered woe all o'er the land ; 
You've turned the husband to a knave, 
And made his wife a wretched slave. 



72 cotton's keepsake. 

Get out of the way you brandy sellers, 
You've ruined "lots of clever fellows." 

The grog that makes men spew and reel, 
Prompts them to murder, rob and steal. 
To grieve their friends they seldom fail, 
And their career oft ends in jail. 
Get out of the way you old gin sellers, 
You've ruined "lots of clever fellows." 

You've taken the shoes from poor women's feet, 
And the bread their children had need to eat; 
You 've robbed them of their scanty clothes, 
And left them crying and half froze. 
Get out of the way you old rum sellers, 
You've ruined "lots of clever fellows.'" 

You 've made sweet children " beg and sigh," 
Wrung bitter tears from their mother's eye. 
As oft she heard them cry for bread. 
When hungry they were sent to bed. 
Get out of the way you whisky sellers 
You've ruined "lots of clever fellows." 

You've severed in twain husband and wife, 
Made happy homes all gall and strife ; 
For rowdy, drunken sprees at night. 
Put wife and children all to flight. 
Get out of the way you old wine sellers, 
You've ruined "lots of clever fellows." 

You 're guilty of all kinds of sin, 

The meanest that has ever been ; 

You've robbed the rich, you've robbed the poor. 

And drove the needy from your door. 



TEMPERANCE. 73 

Get out of the way you strong beer sellers, 
You've ruined "lots of clever fellows." 

You 've robbed tlie strong man of bis strength, 
Then laid him down in the mud full length ; 
And you 've left him there to (jriint and roll, 
Like a filthy hog in an old mud hole. 
G-et out of the way you porter sellers, 
You've ruined " lots of clever fellows." 

You 've crowned some mighty kings with mud^ 

Some palaces you 've filled with blood j 

You 've laid some mighty cities low. 

Wrought happy nations' overthrow. 

Get out of the way you sling-punch sellers, 

YouWe pu7iched the life out of "lots of poor fellows.'* 

Now he who peddles grog through the land, 
Should on his forehead wear this brand: 
" I 'm a dread Maelstrom," in life's rough sea, 
As. a deadly asp, let all shun me. 
Get out of the way you ale, ail sellers. 
And ruin no more of " the clever fellows." 

And now I tell you plainly, sirs, 

"Tis firm as truth, or oaks, or firs," 

You 've led too many men astray, 

But the pledge will knock you out of the way. 

Get out of way with your beer and rum. 

Or the law will make you "hop and hum." 

There's better work for you to do. 
Than peddle grog which all must rue ; 
It covers ones friend all o'er with shame, 
Empties his purse, and blasts his fame. 

7 



74 cotton's keepsake. 

Come sign the pledge, all you dram sellers, 
And Tuiii no more of the clever fellows. 

So "clear the track," and let them come, 

From all their hrandy, whisky, rum, 

And thus atone for errors past. 

By being faithful to the last. 

A cheering word to old dram sellers, 

You yet may save "lots of poor fellows." 

You can do much, full well you know. 

To dry grog's hitter fount of woe. 

The fair shall cheer you with sweet smiles, 

As you expose grog-sellers wiles. 

Come sign the pledge, all you dram-sellers, 

And prove yourselves right clever fellows. 

Now to conclude my comic ditty, 

I must exclaim, Oh ! what a pity, 

That clever fellows, and Christians too. 

Should fight our cause — would they were few. 

Get out of the way you clever fellows. 

You 're looked up to by the liquor sellers. 

From pole to pole, the news shall spread, 
That children no where cry for bread. 
When clever fellows through the land. 
No longer in our way shall stand. 
Come sign the pledge, like clever fellows, 
And stop the mouths of mean dram sellers. 
Come sign the pledge, like clever fellows^ 
And help reclaim all poor dram sellers. 



TEMPERANCE. 75 



A TEMPERANCE CANTATA, 

Sung at the first Anniversary of the Dearborn County W. T. 
Society. Apothegm — " They '11 go back to their cups." 



A TWELVEMONTH ago our flag we unfurled, 
Cold Water "redemption" proclaimed to the world; 
Our battalion contains some twenty-nine score, 
"Come sign the pledge " friends, we 're recruiting for 

more, 
Who will never again " go back to their cups." 

"The Temperance Reform" great good has achieved, 
A thousand times more than at first was conceived, 
And multiplied scores are reclaimed from their thrall, 
Yet many there are who predict their sad fall — 
That "they all will again" "go back to their cups." 

And happy indeed, if this were but all 
They do to impede the great Temperance Ball, 
They use base intrigue to mislead them, and then 
They, fiend-like, rejoice in the fatal hope when 
They all will again "go back to their cups." 

What degraded monsters those beings must be, 
Who oppose the good work, in hopes soon to see 
The reclaimed all return, bound fast by their FOE, 
That they may again live on "mourning and woe," 
When all shall again " go back to their cups." 

"Go back to their cups!" nay, never, no, never. 
Sooner let soul and body at once part and sever ; 



76 cotton's keepsake. 

'T would less wound their friends — 'twould less 

sorrow impart 
To tlie friend of mankind, 'twould dagger his heart 
To see them again " go back to their cups." 

Cheer up ye redeemed, you 've been faithful one year; 
Stick close to your Pledge, you have nothing to fear/ 
You shall bask in sweet smiles all strangers to woe, 
You shall live much beloved, and shall slay your old 

FOE ; 
never, I pray you, "go back to your cups." 

Think of the kind friends who have lent you their 

aid, 
Shall their kindness and love be so cruelly paid? 
Will you blast all the hopes of your wives and your 

babes, 
And join the mad revels of "drunken parades?" 
Will you ever, dear friends, " go back to your cups ?" 

If one now and then should most wickedly fall, 
Let this fatal example your poor hearts appall. 
Cleave close to "Cold Water," there's no danger 

there — 
Be much on your guard — be " fervent in prayer," 
And you '11 never again " go back to your cups." 

You '11 redeem your proud Pledge without blemish 

or stain, 
Your usefulness here you shall ever retain, 
You'll give life and power to " the Temperance Ball," 
Make vain each report that proclaimed you would 

fall ; 
Will you ever? never "go back to your cups." 



TEMPERANCE. 77 

Ho ! ye that proclaim salvation by grace, 
With your strong whisky breath, and your rum- 
colored face, 
How dare you assert your great mission Divine, 
With your nose tipt with red by the fumes of your 

wine ? 
O ! for shame — come away — there is death in the cup. 

And ye precious youth, be admonished, I pray, 
To dash from your lips the cup while you may, 
E'er you are aware, the die will be cast, 
0, escape for thy life — haste ! you can't be too fast; 
For mourning and woe lie concealed in the cup. 

Ye pure, blushing fair, let us bask in your smiles, 
And boldly we'll brave King Alcohol's wiles — 
You can do as much good — shall receive for your aid 
A rich garland of flowers that never shall fade. 
When all have forsaken their haunts and their cups. 

To those of our friends who make, drink, or sell. 
And to those who stand back, yet wish the cause well, 
come sign the Pledge, now cast in your mite, 
To 'pose King Alcohol in a Cold Water fight — 
Drown him out my brave boys — that foe, in the cup. 

Come old and come young, come one and come all, 
Come help us roll on the great Temperance Ball. 
When all are reclaimed, ye shall share in the prize, 
They will rise up and bless you beyond the blue skies, 
Redeemed from the sin, and the woes of the cup. 



POLITICAL. 



THE YANKEE NATION. 



The third, fourth, fifth, sixth and seventh verses, I have added to 
make it expressive of my own sentiments, honestly, clearly, 
and fully expressed. Personally, I would not only check the 
farther spread of slavery, but would blot out at once and for 
ever that most oppressive and iniquitous institution. Were 
it legitimately in my power, I would unloose every burden, 
and "let every captive go free." But feeling that I have 
neither the power nor the right thus to interfere in the 
State institutions, I leave that to the providence of God, and 
those whom He must hold responsible. Many already feel 
that responsibility, and in time, I doubt not, will meet it 
promptly. Lord hasten the lime. Amen ! 

N. B. — For national hymn — Washington and Jefferson — see 
Ode department. 

Of all the mighty nations 

In the east or in the west, 
This glorious Yankee nation 

Is the richest and the best. 
"We have room for all creation, 

And our banners are unfurled, — 
Here's a general invitation 

To the peoi^le of the world: 

(78) 



POLITICAL. 79 

CHORUS. 

Then come along, come along, make no delay, 
Come from every nation, come from every way, 
Our fertile lands are broad enough, no need for an alarm, 
For Uncle Sam has land enough to furnish all a farm. 

The St. Lawrence forms our northern bounds, 

Far as her waters flow. 
And the Rio Grande our southern line 

Way down to Mexico. 
From the old Atlantic ocean, 

Where the day begins to dawn. 
Clear across the Rocky Mountains, 

Far away in Oregon. 

Then come along, etc. 

Come and take our lands in welcome, 

And get you each a farm, 
Be good and honest citizens, 

But do us no more harm. 
For rum and beer and whisky 

We want no more of that, 
Come help us conquer alcohol 

And lay the monster flat. 

Then come along, etc. 

You may worship God in your own way 

And none shall you molest. 
Using such forms and usages 

As seemeth to you best. 
But ne'er presume to undermine 

Or change this government, — 
To keep it pure through coming time 

We all are full intent. 

Then come along, etc. 



80 cotton's keepsake. 

Come and make yourselves acquainted 

With our people and our laws, 
And show yourselves all worthy 

Of honor and applause. 
When you are well informed, 

If found worthy of the trust, 
The right to vote we '11 give you, 

But tried you should be first. 

Then come along, etc. 

Our people claim the right 

To rule this mighty land. 
Till you become like one of us, 

And side by side we stand. 
Then we'll divide with you 

Upon true, honest merit, 
Those honors by adoption 

Which we by birth inherit. 

Then come along, etc. 

"The clanking chains of slavery," 

A foul, disgraceful blot 
Upon our fair escutcheon. 

There longer should be not. 
Come help us chcch its ftirther spread, 

And keep the balance /ree. 
And then repose in welcome 

Beneath our freedom tree. 

Then come along, etc. 

The South shall raise the cotton, 
The West, the corn and pork ; 

The New England manufactories 
Do up the finer work. 



POLITICAL. 81 

For their pure and flowing fountains, 

Their rivers, brooks and rills, 
Are just the thing for washing sheep, 

And driving cotton mills. 

Then come along, etc. 

Our fathers gave us liberty. 

But little did they dream — 
The grand results that flow along 

This mighty age of steam. 
Our rivers, lakes and oceans. 

Are all on a blaze of fire, 
And the news we send by lightning 

On the telegraphic wire. 

Then come along, etc. 

"We are bound to beat the nations, 

For our mothers "go ahead," 
And we '11 show to foreign paupers 

That our people are well fed. 
We '11 prove to all the nations 

Uncle Sam is not a fool, 
For his people do the voting. 

And his children go to school. 

Then come along, etc. 



LINES, 

Pronounced at a political meeting, held at Rising Sun, Sep- 
tember 1st, 1832, and published by order of the meeting, 
with the proceedings of the day. I introduce it here be- 
cause it produced quite a sensation at the time, subjecting 
me to high encomiums and to bitter censure and reproof — 



82 cotton's keepsake. 

a reminiscence of tlie eventful past. Another, reason is, to 
show that while I fearlessly and fully avow my own po- 
litical preferences, I as cheerfully accord to others the 
same privilege without censure. And for the same reason 
I introduce a few national toasts. If they are a little odd 
and comic, so much the better. Any thing for a pleasing 
change. 

Our patriotic President dared veto tlie bank, 
And America's true sons, each warmly liim thank ; 
He boldly refused to re-charter the same, 
Hence, the sons of Columbia feel proud of his name. 

The friend of the poor man, his country's tried friend, 
Will ne'er be forsaken while his measures all tend 
Alike to protect the rich and the poor. 
When he varies from that, "sin lies at his door." 

The hero of Orleans has once been elected 

To preside o'er the Union — and more than expected — ■ 

Ability and skill he has clearly displayed ; 

Yes, even to those who him President made. 

Let Clay and the bank against him conspire, 
They can't put him down nor raise him much higher; 
Let us be independent, keep our money at home, 
Re-elect Andrew Jackson and let aliens roam. 

Elect Henry Clay and the bank he'll re-charter, 
And we'll scarce find a President to veto it after; 
While " foreigners and Clay " united do stand. 
Our favorite old Hickory prefers his own land. 

Ye hard laboring, poor "mechanics and farmers," 
Ye "merchants of commerce" and smiths with your 

hammers; 
Ye heroes who fought and who wish to be free, 
In November, rally to your oivn Hickory, 



POLITICAL. 83 

But still, here's a health to the friends who say nay, 
Whose true love of their country unites them to Clay; 
And many of these there certainly are, 
Among our opponents, deny it who dare. 



TOASTS FOR THE FOURTH OF JULY. 

General Jackson now and ever, 
He would not let the Union sever; 
In the forum and in the field 
His country's rights would never yield. 
Now that he fills the chair of state, 
His acts proclaim him truly great; 
When he hath run his brilliant race. 
May another good citizen take his place. 



The next presidency — no foul play — 
General Andrew Jackson, or Henry Clay, 
May the better man be elected 
(The other, of course, rejected). 
The minority submit and quietly obey, 
So peace be restored and strife die away, 
And America flourish and for ever be free,- 
Three cheers to virtue and integrity. 



To the virtuous and brave who have fought for this 

day, 
Whether friends of Calhoun, of Jackson, or Clay; 
Long life and great plenty, all honor and ease, 
Yes, every good thing be awarded to these. 
Then hush every murmur, hard sayings begone! 
Men think themselves right when greatly in the wrong. 



84 cotton's keepsake. 

Then tax not their virtue, for reason relents, 
And reclaims with soft words and hard arguments. 
But, to the vainly ambitious whose hearts are not 

sound, 
(And too many there are of the like to be found;) 
Not wishing them harm beyond the cold tomb, 
Let the following be their temporary doom : 
A gau7ie pair of breeches and a lyorcup'uic saddle, 
A hard trotting horse and let them ride straddle ; 
And a very long journey and no friends by the way 
To welcome these /oes of America. 



A HEALTH TO POVERTY. 



Like the pretty snow bird, it sticks by you through- 
out the cold and "bitter blast," when every other 
"feathered songster," — when all your "summer 
friends" have fled. 



EDITORIAL 



In 1835, I removed to Newcastle, Henry county, Indiana, and 
at the instance of my friends, became the sole editor of The 
Newcastle Banner. My connection with it was of short du- 
ration. For particulars, see " biography." While occupying 
the editorial chair, I perpetrated and published in the Banner, 
the following : 

ODE, 

TO THE NEWCASTLE BANNEK. 
BY THE EDITOR. 

The Newcastle Banner shall usher my song, 
Please lend your attention, 'twill not take me long; 
So my humble muse, 'tis high time to awake, 
In truth and in rhyme a synopsis now take, 
Of the Newcastle Banner. 

All the current news of each passing week, 
"Whether odd or familiar, we shall carefully seek; 
And our readers anon shall receive the best part. 
In informing the head or improving the heart, 
Through the Newcastle Banner. 

Sectarian disputes, the scourge of the world, 
Shall out of our office with vengeance be hurled ; 
Good subjects, well written, shall each find a place, 
But personal abuse shall never disgrace 
The Newcastle Banner. 

(85) 



86 cotton's keepsake. 

No pled.2;e shall we give, no one party sustain, 
But a little for each, an insertion may gain ; 
There's good and there's bad, no doubt, on each side, 
By truth and fair dealing we trust we shall guide 
The Newcastle Banner. 

Fair science and art may here speak their claims, 
How our bosoms elate at the charm of their names; 
Obedience and virtue to the laws of the land, 
Shall ever possess a primary stand. 

In the Newcastle Banner. 

Internal improvements shall all fostered be. 
And D. manufactures to their utmost degree; 
Turnpikes and railroads, canals and the like, 
Shall all canvassed be, both in black and in white, 
In the Newcastle Banner. 

A neat superroyal will just be the size, 
With its cotemporaries it honorably vies; 
To the rich and the poor vade mccum it will be, 
At home and abroad by land or by sea. 

Then who'll take the Banner. 

There '11 be pretty tales for your children to read, 
And such information as our patrons most need; 
Domestic and foreign shall each form a part, 
Then subscribe en masse with a liberal heart 
For the Newcastle Banner. 

But the cash we shall want as it becomes due, 
Dishonest subscribers, we trust, will be few ; 
Delinquents all know good people abhor, 
So our patrons, we trust, will promptly pay for 
The Newcastle Banner. 



EDITORIAL. 87 

On this good endeavor should dame fortune frown, 
Just for the good will, we'll keep our anger down; 
We'll wait awhile longer, we'll twist and we'll turn, 
To keep up our credit, and advance the concern 
Of the Newcastle Banner. 

Good doctors and lawyers, we would here just advise, 
To hand us a fee and we'll advertise. 
And grocers and merchants, we want of you cash, 
For PUFFING your goods, your silks, and your trash 
In the Newcastle Banner. 

We'll go one round more for the sake of the fun, 
(My impertinent muse wilt thou never be done ?) 
Huzza for the farmer, mechanic and all, 
And never, never, do suffer to fall, 
The Newcastle Banner. 

Kind editors all, will please lend a hand, 
Just simply exchange, they will understand ; 
May friendship and peace pervade their whole ranks, 
The like we'll return with our hearty thanks 
Throu2;h the Newcastle Banner. 

Then here is the health we offer to all, 
Without whose support the Banner must fall : 
May they prosper and flourish and for ever be free, 
And their watchword henceforward this short sentence 
be— 

Success to the Banner. 



88 cotton's keepsake. 



A COMPLIMENTARY EPISTLE. 

We have said that we occupied the editorial chair but for a 
short season. But we won a fame in that short period 
which some do not win in a life-time — that of being "no 
great scratch " of an editor after all — perhaps. If that 
opinion did at all prevail, there were exceptions to the 
rule, as the following, among other favorable notices, will 
show : 

To the Editor of the The Newcastle Banner — 

Respected sir, I beg you now, 
A perfect stranger to allow 
His friendship for you to avow 

In artless line; 
For well I know, I know not how 

To make it shine. 

And I must own I have some fear, 

Before you, boldly, to appear, 

Lest you should think it of me queer 

To make so free. 
But if you should sarcastic sneer, 

That I shant see. 

And well I know my untaught speech 
Soars not beyond the critic's reach, — ■ 
And can not you amuse or teach 

With strange or new. 
But timidly have made this breach 

To learn from you — 



EDITORIAL. 89 

Though my rude muse did beg and plead 
From letting you her nonsense read — 
I've mounted on the poesy's steed 

Prepared for flight; 
Determined full, that she shall lead 

And guide me right. 

Now if to ride you feel inclined, 
Imagination room will find, 
To let you take a seat behind 

And ride with me. 
Pegassus carries double kind, 

As you will see. 

A lengthy journey we'll not take, 
Nor yet each other we'll forsake. 
Until we some acquaintance make, 

In sober rhyme. 
Perhaps in livelier strains to wake 

Some other time. 

This weary beast so often rode, 
Moves sluggish with its heavy load 
From vacant minded's dull abode 

And thoughtless rest; 
Unless the muse with fancy 's good 

Can stir the breast. 

Prepared with paper, pen and ink, 

I'll slap down now just what I think. 

And try with rhyme to make it clink 

In measures span ; 

And aim its different parts to link 

As well's I can. 
8 



90 cotton's keepsake. 

I've been informed you have a slight, 

In prose or rhyme your thoughts to write, 

And can them either way indite; 

With so much ease, 
That all who of them get a sight, 

They 're sure to please. 

Beside 'tis said, in you is found 
A heart that does in love abound, 
With honest kindness compassed round, 

And social turn. 
And wrong designed, not envy's sound 

Could there discern. 

For friends like these, I've ever sought, 
And in this case, to you I thought, 
An introduction should be sought, 

Trusting in you 
This essay not to set at naught, 

Scorned in your view. 

And if this bold attempt should fail, 
Pray put it not in t' other scale, 
Lest by its weight it should prevail 

Against the end, 
And time when you I hope to hail 

As my best friend. 

And though so many friends you have, 
An humble backward seat I crave. 
Which with them, by you, might be gave^ 

And from the rest, 
Unless I proved to be a knave, 

Not take the least. 



EDITORIAL. 91 

Throughout our journey here below, 
As up and down through life we go, 
O'er hills of joy, and vales of woe, 

We ne 'er can see, 
One earthly stream of sweets to flow, 

From sorrow free. 

Should fate not snap life's brittle thread. 
Youth's frolic hours will soon have fled, 
Age following with its silvery tread, 

Advances on, 
To lay us with the lowly dead, 

Forgot and gone. 

We scare can taste a single joy. 
That is unmixed with an alloy, 
E 'en should we thoughts or hopes employ 

Of future bliss, 
Old Satan's presence will annoy. 

And frustrate this. 

While nature's hand does kind dispense 
The joys that gratify the sense, 
I find none in her providence, 

I value more, 
Than friendship's sweet that flow immense, 

From that rich store. 

Then may we evil passions quell, 
And henceforth ever peaceful dwell 
With brother men, and them compel 

The way we go. 
And with kind feeling, now farewell — • 

I bid to you. JuNO. 



92 cotton's keepsake. 



ANSWER TO THE FOREGOING. 

by the editor. 

My unknown friend : — 

I HAVE received your note most kind, 
Which under date of March I find, 
Wherein you say you feel inclined 

To be my friend, 
To my own good I should be blind 

Not back to send. 

But will premise what is most true, 
I'll not attempt to rival you, 
Full well I know that I can't do, 

Hence I give o'er. 
Poetic skill you've brought to view, 

In days of yore. 

True I can write in prose or rhyme, 
There 's no great difi'erence in the time, 
But lay no claim to the sublime, 

In nought I do, 
Parnassus' hight I ne'er can climb — 
Not so with you. 

Oft rivalship of ill is rife, 
Hence I ne'er poetized for strife. 
Save once I think, in all my life, 

Then took the prize.* 
To 'tempt it here H^ * * :ji ^ :i? 
Would be unwise. 

* The Indiana Palladium ; one year for a New Year's Address, in 1832. 



EDITORIAL. 93 

But purely out of etiquette, 
My pen in ink forthwith I wet. 
To answer yours pop down I set^ 

Though 'gainst my muse, 
And you may either laugh or fret; 

Just as you choose. 

I will premise, you need not fear, 
That I shall once sarcastic sneer — 
Believe me sir, I hold them dear, 

Those lines of thine. 
But dare not hope you will appear 

To value mine. 

Your invitation I embrace. 

Though sure myself much to disgrace, 

My poetry with yours to place; 

But wont refuse 
The seat you say with modest grace. 

That's due my Muse. 

I shall be pleased to ride with you, 
Since you 've an honest heart and true 
That daily I may something new 

Add to my stock. 
I '11 take the seat you say 's my due — 

Nor ever balk. 

For I 'm informed, on learning's score 
You are well versed in Classic lore. 
And well may claim to ride heforc 

On Poesy's steed. 
On this we need to say no more. 

Since I'm asreed. 



94 cotton's keepsake. 

Indeed kind sir, you flatter me, 
And when eacli other we shall see, 
I fear you '11 disappointed be, 

In your sought friend. 
Eut never from you will I flee, 

You may depend. 

As you're informed, such is my turn, 
As all who will may soon discern, 
And daily more and more I learn 

To use all well. 
But base men from my presence spurn, 

Nor with them dwell. 

On friendship, sir, we both agree. 
There's nought on earth more dear to me, 
From bitter strife I always flee, 

And refuge seek 
With those whose hearts from guile are free, 

And spirits 'meek. 

There 's not a joy that mortals know, 
While on their pilgrimage below. 
That will compare with those that flow 

From friendship's source. 
From this blest fount I will not go, 

Except by force. 

Then let us make it all our care. 
To shun each vain and hurtful snare. 
By daily watching unto prayer, 

While life shall last. 
We'll sip our fill when we get there, 

Of love's repast. 



EDITOEIAL. 95 

You '11 find a warm, warm friend in me, 
Pai' nohile fratum let us be, 
Nor ever let us disagree, 

But dwell in peace: 
And wlien each other we shall see, 

May love increase. 

Among my friends you crave a seat. 
Quite in the rear you would retreat, 
Such friends as you, I seldom meet. 

Hence you assign 
A place among the first I greet, 

As friends of mine. 

You say you 've heard much good of me, 
From cruel envy you are free, 
And that myself you hope to see, 

Some future time, 
Believe me sir, I am as ye, 

'T is truth in rhyme. 

And may I ever worthy prove. 

Of your unsought, yet priceless love, 

And journeying to our home above, 

With heart and hand. 
My unknown friend, let's onward move 

To Canaan's land. 

There purest joys for ever flow, 
And all are strangers there to woe. 
From glory they to glory go 

On streets of gold. 
How sad the contrast here below, 

As you have told. 



96 cotton's keepsake. 

I 've taken quite a pleasant ride, 
Since I behind you did bestride, 
On Poesy's steed and let you guide; 

Should like to more. 
But can not, sir, — you wound my pride 

Quite to the core. 

Since I 've got on you seem distressed, 
Your sluggish beast you say's oppressed, 
And standeth much in need of rest: 

Who will may scoff. 
A modest hint, 't must be confessed, 

So I'll get off. 

But think me not, in humor ill. 
Though I thus flourish with my quill; 
I do remain your warm friend still, 

'T is all a pun. 
With merry laugh, I would you fill. 

And now I'm done. 

But should your beast e'er be refreshed, 
And friendly thought inspire your breast, 
As saith your Muse, so have them dressed, 

And send them me, 
I '11 view them as before expressed. 

As you shall see. 

You now must feel in merry plight, 
So take alone your lofty flight, 
Leaving poor me quite out of sight, 

Gazing at you. 
So here's your health, no more I '11 write,— 

Adieu, adieu. 



LITERARY 



Having had much experience in the schoolroom, I give place to 
the following articles, in order to show what kind feelings 
should exist between the Teacher and his Pupils, to make the 
schoolroom a happy and a useful place. And more than that, 
I think there is real merit in these juvenile productions, well 
worthy of preservation in any book — and especially so in the 
book of their old Teacher. Mine will speak for themselves. 



INVITATION TO SCHOOL. 

Selected by Miss Alice Clark, an interesting little Miss, of some 
10 or 12 summers — corrected for the occasion, and sung at the 
commencement of a new term. 



School is begun, so come every one, 

With bright and smiling faces. 
For happy are they, who learn while they may, 

So come and take your places. 

Here you will find your teacher most kind, 

And by his aid succeeding ; 
The older you grow, the more you will know. 

If you but love your reading. 

Little boys, when you grow to be men, 

And fill some honored station, 
If you should once be found out a dunce, 

! think of your vexation. 

9 (97) 



98 COTTONS KEEPSAKE. 

And little girls, too, a kind word to you, 

To learn is now your duty — 
Without — none will deem you worthy of esteem, 

Whate'er your wealth or beauty. 

X/et us all then, young ladies and young men, 

Little girls and boys altogether. 
Be each in his place, with a bright smiling face. 

In fail' and in foul weather. 

And every one try, with each other to vie, 

In kind and in good behavior; 
And thus lighten the care, of our kind teacher there, 

And win his loving favor. 



ANSWER TO THE FOREGOING. 

BY THE TEACHER. 

My dear little Miss, for a tribute like this, 

So kind, yet so unassuming. 
You deserve great praise, all the rest of your days, 

I may say, without once presuming. 

Nearly forty long years, with prayers and with tears, 
I have acted the part of " the Master," 

And never found one, who more perfectly won 
My love — or improvement made faster. 

How exceedingly dear, good scholars appear. 

In school — and evermore after. 
They seldom annoy, either a girl or a boy. 

By tricks — or mischievous laughter. 



LITERARY. 99 

But the eye and the ear and the mind appear, 
Fully bent to make some improvement, 

In "the branches taught," just as they ought, 
And do — in every movement. 

If your schoolmates dear, will only give ear, 

To your kind and good admonition, 
Very pleasant hours will engage all our powers, 

In study and tuition. 

And 0, may we meet, and each other greet, 

In the blissful realms of glory, — 
To meet you up there, is my fervent prayer, 

And here I conclude my story. 



SCHOOL COMPOSITION. 

BY DAVID P. ROW. 

A WORD to you, my classmates dear, 

Before we all disperse. 
My thoughts you see, I 've written down, 

And strung them into verse. 

If we come here to look about, 

Our teacher sure will say 
We can not learn — and better far, 

For us to stay away. 

"We all meet here, week after week, 
With bright and sparkling eyes; 

And if we study as we should, 
'T will make us good and wise. 



100 cotton's keepsake. 

As learning is the greatest thing, 

That ever man possessed, 
May all that our kind teacher says, 

Upon our minds be pressed. 

If we 'd be wise, or good, or great, 

We all must study hard. 
Then living long, or dying soon. 

We '11 gain a rich reward. 

Our teacher here is very kind. 
And all should love him well, 

And for our future happiness, 
Make every quarter tell. 

And now, dear classmates, let us try. 

To do as we are told. 
And then how happy we shall be, 

Nor will the teacher scold. 

And 0, I know, we love him well, 

And well he loves us too, 
So with these humble lines young friends, 

I bid you all — adieu. 



KESPONSE TO THE FOREGOINa 

BY THE TEACHER. 

My dear kind pupil, I must say, 
Your composition is first rate. 

And if you by these precepts live. 

You'll surely be both good and great. 



LITERARY. 101 

Your admonitions are most true, 
And can not fail to do much good, 

If all will only practice them, 

As kind good classmates ever should. 

The kindly "tribute" which you pay, 

Unto your poor old teacher here, 
Is very grateful to my heart, 

And ever will remain most dear. 

Go on and cultivate your mind. 

And store it well with " learning's lore," 

And you'll be useful, good and happy, — 
I'll not detain you to say more. 

And what I say, to you, kind sir, 

I say to all both young and old, 
I love you dearly, every one. 

And seldom need to fret or scold. 

Your time is precious as gold dust, 
Improve each fleeting moment well. 

In youth's bright morn — and may we here, 
In peace and friendship ever dwell. 

And 0! where'er our lots are cast, 

On the broad stage of human life, 
Let us. in friendship ever live, 

Avoiding all that tends to strife. 

And when "life's busy scenes" are o'er, 

May we in peace lie doioii and die. 
And in "the resurrection morn" — wake up 

To bliss immortal in the sky. 



102 - cotton's keepsake. 



ADIEU AND RESPONSE. 

The following " Adieu " and "Response " were sung at the close 
of ray school. The Adieu was selected by Clara Collier, an 
interesting little Miss, and corrected for the occasion by a 
friend. The Response, by the Teacher. 

_4jV_" From Greenland's Icy Mountain." 
PUPILS' ADIEU. 

While the full tide of gladness 
Is flowing througli each heart, 

There comes a thought of sadness, 
It is — that we must part. 

The band that's here united, 
May meet no more on earth; 

This thought has hushed and blighted 
Our song and smile of mirth. 

We 've had the kindest teacher 

That pupils ever had, 
His presence every morning 

Made all our hearts right glad. 

And when we vexed or grieved him, 

How kindly he 'd forgive ; 
His name we'll love and cherish, 

Long as on earth we live. 

Here will our thoughts oft linger, 
Where'er our "lots are cast," 

Till memory's feeble finger 
Shall fail to trace the past. 



LITERARY. 103 

Kind schoolmates, let us clierisli 
"The precepts" taught us here, 

And "crowns that will not perish," 
We by and by shall wear. 

Dear teacher, may God's blessing 

Crown all your future days, 
While "onward" we are pressing, 

In " wisdom's pleasant ways." 

And oh! we hope to meet you 
In heaven, where all is bright — 

Where none who there shall greet you, 
Will ever say " Good Niylit.'' 



TEACHER'S EESPOXSE. 

My kindest, dearest pupils, 

I gratefully receive 
The chaste and pretty "tribute," 

Which here to me you give. 

But oh ! I have no language, 
To tell you how my heart 

Is throbbing — sighing — bleeding, 
To think we now must part. 

We've spent delightful seasons. 
In harmony and love — 

(With very few exceptions,) 
Like unto that above. 

I 've ruled by love and kindness- 
Not with "the hateful rod," 



104 cotton's keepsake. 

Appealing to your judgments, 
And praying unto God. 

We now must part asunder, 
To meet tlie "ills of life," 

Be tossed, and tried, and tempted, 
Amid the "glorious strife." 

But never fail nor falter, 
" Whatever ills betide," 

You will come off victorious, 
With virtue on your side. 

"The paths of sin and folly," 
For ever 'void and shun, 

And as a ^'-deadly serpent^'' ^ 
From '■'■rum holes ^^ ever run. 

Bright honors then await you, 
- I know — '' I feelit true;'' 
Let each his part "act nobly," — ■ 
Dear scholars, now ''Adieu.'' 



THE BEAUTIES OF NATURE. 

Elizabeth Jackson, a very promising and interesting little Miss 
of some 16 summers at the time, concluded a very beautiful 
school-composition upon the Beauties of Nature, in poetic and 
harmonious number, thus : 



How glorious looks the god of day 
When first he mounts the sky, 



LITERARY. 105 

He drives all darkness from lils way, 

Aud drinks the dew cups dry; 
How modest looks tlie sweet pale morn, 

When Sol has run his race, 
And left fair Luna to illume 

The sky with her mild face. 

And there is brilliant Venus, too, 

The eve and morning star, 
sure this grand and splendid view 

Surpasses art by far. 
And then behold the thunderstorm, 

AYith awful splendor — grand, 
The lightnings flash, the thunders roll, 

And billows lave the strand. 

And when the storm has passed away, 

And all is still and calm. 
All nature smiles and seems to join, 

In one thanksgiving psalm. 
The feathered songsters of the air. 

Warbling their mellow lays. 
Are beautiful to eye and ear. 

And fill the heart with praise. 

Then look we at the beauteous flowers, 

Which bloom to bless our sight. 
They lend their fragrance to the air, 

And fill us with delight. 
Thus comforts sweet and blessings rare, 

We have from day to day, 
More than I now can here recount. 

Or ever here repay. 



106 cotton's keepsake. 

Then we should raise, with grateful hearts, 

Our souls to God in prayer, 
Who is so very kind to us, 

And thank him for his care. 

Lizzie. 



ANSWER. 

by the teacher. 

Dear Lizzie: — 

Your composition, number two, 

Is beautiful indeed, 
The subject was well chosen, too, 
As we are all agreed. 

A theme more grand and beautiful, 
More grateful to the heart, 

Could not be found beneath the sun, 
In Science, Ethics, Art. 

The golden sun — the god of day. 
The modest queen of night. 

The stars that twinkle in the sky. 
And shine with luster bright 

Are full of beauty, and inspire 
Anthems of grateful praise, 

To Him who placed them thus on high, 
Our thoughts to upward raise. 

A contemplation of these things. 

Must elevate the mind. 
And I rejoice, to see that you, 

Are to such thoughts inclined. 



LITERARY. 107 

To cheer you on your way, kind Miss, 

Your studies to pursue, 
Is now my object and my aim, 

In writing thus to you. 

King David, though he wore a crown, 

Was wrapt in visions bright, 
When he surveyed the starry heavens, 

At morn, at noon, at night. 

These mighty works of God proclaim. 

That small and frail we are. 
Instead of being vain and proud, 

'Twill humble us in prayer. 

'Twill lead us all to trust in God, 

Since birds, their food can't miss. 
And some sip oney all the day, 

From flowers — with a kiss. 

Your manners and improvement, too, 

Merit my warmest praise, 
Go on as heretofore — and walk 

In wisdom's pleasant ways. 

And you'll be loved and useful here. 

And happy when you die, 
And when the scenes of life are o'er. 

You '11 triumph in the sky. 

There friends and kindred whom you love, 

Are looking out for you. 
And there I hope to greet you all. 

Dear Lizzie now — Adieu. 



108 cotton's keepsake. 



CONTENTMENT. 

BY MATILDA, 

Permit me here to introduce another young lady of taste and 
talents to my readers. Several years ago she was one of my 
pupils, loved and cherished still — is now mari'ied, the mother 
of two sweet children, but one is not. I called to see her the 
other day, and she showed me some of her poetic effusions ia 
confidence as an old friend. At my request she presented me 
with one on contentment. It is a gem for the beauty of Its com- 
position, and much more so for its chaste and pure, and holy, 
and happy sentiment, and is especially worthy of attention in 
these times of matrimonial disquietude and divorces. It will 
speak for itself. 



A HAPPY wife indeed am I, 
Though not of wealth I boast supply ; 
My husband owns no mansion great, 
Nor may he sit in "halls of state;" 
No " carpets soft," beneath our feet, 
Nor " easy chair," with "cushioned seat," 
Adorn our little "sitting room" — 
And yet we have " a happy home." 

My love works hard from morn till night — 

In idleness takes no delight; 

His hands inured to manly toil, 

Feels not disgraced to till the soil ; 

Nor do I blush that you should hear 

He is by trade a carpenter. 

And though but little we may own, 

We have indeed "a happy home." 

We care not what the world may say — 
We for each other live each day ; 



LITERARY. 109 

And oil! I'm riclier than a queen, 
For in liis heart I reign supreme — 
A heart of purest honesty, 
Where lurks no guile or trickery; 
And hence it is, though poor in life, 
I am indeed "a happy wife." 

He may be wronged, but ne'er returns 
An injury — for 0! he spurns 
Revengeful fires from his pure heart, 
Though keen should be "the traitor's dart," 
Ah no ! I would not change with those 
Who in their fame or wealth repose — 
For though no title does he bear, 
I'm pleased his humble name to wear. 

Content and happy every day — 
And who will dare my life gainsay, 
When they reflect that th' wise and great 
Of every clime and land and state 
Declare "God's noblest work" is he 
Whose heart from guile and sin is free : 
All this in him I richly own, 
And can but have " a happy home.' 

Ah yes, we have a happy home, 
AVhere bitter strife has never come; 
Nor may we cease to take delight 
In strewing o'er our pathway bright 
The flowers of pure and constant love 
Till in "that better land" above. 
With our Redeemer we sit down, 
"Heirs of a kingdom and a crown." 



110 cotton's keepsake, 

lightly tread. 

aik: — "lightly eow." 

The slamming of doors and the stamping of feet is a great annoy- 
ance at home, abroad, at church, and especially so in the 
schoolroom. I have, therefore, selected for my little readers 
the following pretty little Poem, which I hope they will com- 
mit to memory, and not forget to practice either at home, 
abroad, at church, and by all means, at school. 



Lightly tread, ligHtly tread — 
So our teacher oft has said. 
Softly go, softly go — 
'Tis the law we know. 
Lightly tread the echoing floor, 
Lightly shut the slamming door. 
Lightly all, lightly all, 
Let our footsteps fall. 

Childhood here, childhood here — 
Comes to learn, obey and fear — 
Fear the wrong, fear the wrong — 
Tis our strife and song. 
Thus shall love and filial fear, 
Mingle with our studie- here. 
Pressing on, pressing on — 
Youth will soon be gone. 

Far away, far away, 
We may run, and jump, and play; 
Laugh and shout, laugh and shout, 
Childliood ringing out; 



LITERARY. Ill 



But assembled here in scliool, 
Let us all obey the rule ; 
Lightly go, lightly go- 
Thus our love we show. 

Study now, study now — 
Happy hearts and healthy brow, 
This the time, this the time, 
Now in youthful prime; 
Wisdom, goodness, honor, all. 
Childhood to obeisance call. 
Let us all, let us all. 
Listen to the call. 



A TEACHER'S FAREWELL. 

My scholars dear, to me give ear, 

While I to you relate, 
That you appear to me most dear, 

The small as well as great. 
Though to me dear, great is my fear 

You'll find cause to complain; 
Though from the start, my anxious heart 

Has feared to give you pain. 

To do just right, I've strove with might, 

To govern with a smile; 
To lead you up those steeps abrupt. 

The sciences beguile. 
You 've been to me most kind and free, 

My every wish to do ; 
Hence I can ne'er find those more dear 

To my fond heart than you. 



112 cotton's keepsake. 

Though part we must, I fain would trust, 

The mem'ry of my name 
You '11 cherish long, in heart and song, 

As when at first I came. 
Nor night, nor day, I 've ceased to pray 

For your advancement here; 
I say again, I can't restrain 

The parting sigh and tear. 

I think, alas! how soon will pass 

The pleasing scenes of youth; 
0! then, I pray, heed what I say, 

And treasure up the truth. 
This world of woe, through which you go, 

Is full of 2yits and snares; 
Then be discreet, and as is meet. 

On God cast all your cares. 

And in his Book be sure to look, 

And ^^ search'' it every day; 
And with delio;ht, each morn and nio-lit, 

Eenew your vows, and pray. 
Let God be Jirst in whom you trust, 

And he shall guide you well; 
All you should do, and all eschew, 

His word and Spirit tell. 

The fatal BOWL, which blights the soul, 

dash at once away; 
'Twill ruin all, both great and small, 

And drain the j^^i-rse to pay. 
"My country's hope," could I give scope 

To all that 's in my heart, 
I 'd paint to you, in colors true, 

The drunkard's horrid chart. 



LITERARY. 113 

The grief and woe, tliat gushing flow, 

(At the poor tippler's fall,) 
From those we love, on earth, above, 

Should each fond heart appall. 
The brightest flower, when in the power 

Of those who make or sell^ 
Are almost sure, if they endure, 

To grace a Felon's cell. 

You will succeed, in rapid speed, 

To rule in Church and State; 
And if I could, I 'm sure I would 

Rear you for trusts so great. 
In fine, you must be hind and just^ 

Thus merit a good name; 
This is the road all men have trod 

To usefulness and fame. 

New teachers here, you will next year, 

Have occupy my place; 
To them give ear — obey with fear — 

With your accustomed grace. 
Rev'rence the old, as you 've been told — 

Your parents, too, obey; 
Your classmates here, to you so dear, 

Help onward in the way. 

Let not recess make you the less 

Fond of your book and pen; 
But occupy, as the moments fly. 

Young ladies and young men. 
A learned mind no chains can bind — 

Its joys are pure and sweet; 
Add but this one — Virtue's bright sun — 

Your bliss will be complete. 
10 



114 cotton's keepsake. 

Now brothers near, and sisters dear, 

Unite with one accord; 
Make it appear, both far and near, 

You love and serve the Lord. 
Let love and peace with you increase-— 

Let strife be done away; 
Then with one voice you shall rejoice 

When here you cease to stay. 

And 't is my prayer to meet you there, 

Where partings are no more; 
There through rich grace, God's love to trace, 

For ever, evermorCi 
What high-wrought joy shall there employ 

Our every ransomed power; 
scholars dear, to meet me there. 

Resolve from this sad hour. 

Observe my looks, and take your books, 

I bid you now adieu; 
It grieves my heart, that I must part. 

To meet no more with you. 
Still I am glad I ever had 

These happy scenes with you; 
'Tis ever sweet when you I greet — 

A joy that's ever new. 

How sweet the note that oft did float 

Upon the evening air. 
When old and young rose up and sung. 

Then joined in solemn prayer. 
These scenes, alas! no more will pass 

With us together here; 
And here we pay, as well we may, 

The tribute of a tear. 



LITERARY. 115 

I would prolong my humble song, 

And tell you how my heart, 
At every pore, bleeds more and more, 

To think we now must part. 
Farewell, young men, you've been my friends, 

In every time of need; 
And, LADIES, too, I bid adieu, 

No more to hear you read. 

The little class I will not pass. 

But take you all along; 
May heaven bless my poor address, — 

Thus I conclude my song. 
When this you see, remember me. 

And this last interview; 
May grace and truth bless age and youth — 

Dear scholars, now — adieu!!! 



EPISTOLAEY. 



Subjoined to a letter to my parents, containing a memento. 



When this you see, remember me, 
And bear me in your mind, 

And do not think, though far away, 
To you I feel unkind. 

Ah, no! I miss your watchful care — 
I mourn your kind embrace, 

And fain would give all I possess 
Could I but see your face. 

Kind parents dear, let not a tear 
Disturb or mar your peace; 

For if the Lord shall make it clear, 
You'll see me in the east. 

From thence I hope to meet you all 
On Canaan's happy shore. 

Where we shall see each other's face, 
And separate no more. 

(116) 



EPISTOLARY. 117 



LINES TO A BROTHER— No. 1. 

Written under adverse and discouraging circumstances. 

I 'vE often longed with anxious heart, and wished to see you sore, 
But have abandoned near all hope of seeing you a' more; 
Enough I have already lost, as you by this will see, 
To fit me out, and take me back to where I fain would be. 

Should not the scale in mercy turn, I ne'er shall see thy face; 
Yet I 'm quite happy on my way — my song is all free grace. 
Religion — the charming theme! grace — how it cheers my 

heart ! 
With it I 'm quite enabled with all my friends to part. 

Yet the thought of getting home to Canaan's peaceful shore; 
Where I do hope to see you all, to part again no more. 
There to recount our sorrows o'er, all tears be wiped away; 
There all together we shall sit and chant the golden lay. 

Our absence and our longing here, to see each others face, 
Will only serve our joys to nerve when there we each embrace; 
0! if I had but room enough, a lengthy tale I'd tell ; 
For want I close, though 'gainst my will, so, brother, fare you 
well. A. J. Cotton. 



LINES TO A BROTHER.~No. 2. 

Responsive to a request for some of my Poetry, 1820. 

toUR letter, dated March the 4th, in good time came to hand; 
From which I learn that you are journeying to that land 
Where all is peace and joy, where friends no more shall part; 
Then go ye on and prosper — you have my hand and heart. 



118 cotton's keepsake. 

Some of my poetry you wish me now to write; 
Your call I do obey with pleasure and delight; 
There 's nothing in it beautiful — my style is always plain, 
And may be laughed at by ray friends, with you, 'way down in 
Maine. 

But let us each press onward, and daily bear the cross ; 
All earthly good beside is vanity and dross ; 
I'm more than e'er resolved to walk the narrow way; 
! let us faithful prove, and for each other pray. 



LINES TO MRS. COTTON.— No. 1. 

Written at New Orleans, in 1828. 

! IF I could, I 'm sure I would for ever by thee stay, 
And do my part, with willing heart, and soothe thy cares away; 
It grieves me much, but ah ! 't is such my case will not admit, 
That I should dwell in my own cell,* and ever by you sit. 

But there's a thought, which I just caught, which does amount 

to this: 
Thy lonely fare, with so much care, will land thy soul in bliss. 
'T is there I do, along with you — our children in the ring — 
Expect relief from every grief, and hallelujahs sing. 

These lines I 've sent with full intent, and that you can but see. 
To know how you and the children do, and you, how 't is with 

me; 
Now, my dear wife, do guard thy life, as here I do thee tell; 
And write to me first chance you see, and now, dear wife, fare- 

"well. A. J. Cotton. 

* Log Cabin, 



EPISTOLARY. 119 



LINES TO MRS. COTTON.— No. 2. 

Written at Natchez, 1828. 

And now, my dear wife, and my children most dear, 
For me grieve not, vent not one sigh or one tear; 
Ere six fleeting months shall have rolled their short round, 
At my own fireside I hope to be found. 

! then let us wait, and for each other pray, 
And this anxious time will soon pass away, 
When we shall recount our pleasures and pain, 
And indulge the fond hope of not parting again. 

'T was painful to leave you (even now my tears flow) — 
I love my sweet home — you know it is so; 
'T was duty that called me to wander away, 
And duty suggests that here I should stay. 

Here I have good friends, and am making out well, 
Yet my longings to see you no language can tell ; 
From what I have written, you can but discern, 
That so soon as I can, I intend to return. 

Could I fold myself up in this letter to you, 
I'd return post haste, depend, it is true; 
The first chance I have, I will write you again — 
In the bonds of affection, I, as ever, remain, 

Yours till death, 

A. J. Cotton. 



120 cotton's keepsake. 



LINES TO A SISTER.— No. 1. 

Written after a return from a most delightful visit to my friends 
in Maine.— 1829. 



I OFTEN call to mind the many happy hours, 
Enjoyed with you of late beneath your friendly bowers, 
Saturnian were those days, our joys were quite complete, 
And ! how much I long, again with you to meet. 

And if fugacity were subject to my sway, 
I 'd visit you again, nor would I long delay. 
For ! the anxious hours that are allotted me, 
And doubtless will remain, 'till you again I see. 

Ay! when I go to church, where all are joined in prayer, 
! then I think of you, and wish you were but there, 
But then I think again, 'twill not be very long, 
'Till we shall meet above, and sing redemption's song. 

Oft in the midnight gloom, while in the arms of sleep, 

I fancy you I see, and only wake to weep. 

For soon, alas ! I find, those Utopean sweets 

All quickly pass away, when me the morning greets. 

The only real bliss, which here to me is given. 
Is centered in the hope of meeting you in heaven, 
There with our dearest friends who have before us gone, 
We '11 shake the hand of friendship, and join the holy song. 

And in the boundless sea of God's consummate grace, 
Forget our every pain, and see each other's face. 
In ecstacies unknown, survey the glories there, — 
Then let us faithful prove, and live a life of prayer. 

A. J. Cotton. 



EPISTOLARY. 121 



LINES TO A SISTER.— No. 2. 

Written under similar circumstances. 

My mind how oft it soars aloft, on contemplation's wing, 
Nor lights again 'till in the Maine, with each of you I sing, 
I call to mind, your love most kind, your conversation, sweet, 
Be this my song, 0! how I long, again with you to meet. 

And if I could, I'm sure I would, fly back to you in haste. 
For I do long, to hear your song, and bygone pleasures taste. 
Our meeting there, I do declare, was a rich and sweet repast. 
My brother dear, ! are you here, ! have you come at last. 

It does appear, sometimes as clear, as any thing can be, 

That still I hear, thy voice so dear, how sweet the thought 

to me. 
But soon alas! those phantoms pass, then fancied sweets adieu, 
Again I long to hear your song, and worship 'long with you. 

Oft in the night I take delight, in visions, ! how sweet, 
It is to me, for you I see, and you again I greet, 
But when the light pours on my sight, the happy spell is broke, 
And then I sigh, to think that I, so suddenly had woke. 

! if you knew my love to you, how oft my heart is riven, 
You could not doubt one word about the statement I have 

given, 
Still I have joys, which nought annoys, and hail the happy 

day. 
When we shall fly, up to the sky, and join the golden lay. 

And there shall we, for ever be, shall shout our conflicts o'er. 

Through boundless grace, see face to face, and reign for ever- 
more. 

Where streets are gold, we shall behold the friends we loved so 
here, 

And shout and sing, to Christ our King, — now fare you well, 
my dear. 

11 



122 cotton's xeepsake. 



LINES TO A SISTER.— No. 3. 

WRITTEN AS ABOVE. 

! now precious it is to contemplate, 
The happy hours enjoyed with you of late, 
An absence long made it indeed more dear; 
Nor can I once, suppress a sigh, a tear. 

1 call to mind our happy meeting there, 
Pure earthly bliss, I gratefully declare^ 

Thy sweet embrace — O brother! can this be you? 
What tears of joy did then our cheeks bedew. 

I fancy oft, that I can see you still, 
With what delight it does my bosom fill, 
But ! how soon those fancied joys depart, 
And leave to me a very pensive heart. 

And oft do I, in the dead hours of night, 
W^hile in soft sleep enjoy most sweet delight j 
In happy dreams I hear, I see you all; 
But when I wake, 'tis vain on you to call. 

0, if I had the power to fly away. 
How soon I'd hail another meeting day; 
I can not tell the longings of my heart. 
From friends we love how hard it is to part. 

How sweet the thought, we soon shall meet in heaven 
0, precious hope to us through mercy given; 
For there shall we, through matchless saving grace, 
Shake hands again, and see each other's face. 



EPISTOLARY. 123 

In bliss immortal, wc evermore shall dwell, 
Nor once repeat that fearful word farewell; 
Survey all heaven with wonder and delight, — 
Now sister dear, I bid you all " good night." 



LINES TO A SISTER— No. 4. 

Written at sea, homeward bound, after enjoying a second, and, 
as it was tlien thought, in in all probability, the very last 
of the kind, in time, 

sister! sister! your absence I mourn, 

As o'er the blue waters from you I am borne ; 
My bark rides nobly, with her canvas all spread, 
Yet many are the tears which for you I have shed. 

1 pace the lone deck, I lean o'er the bow — • 
0, what would I give to be with you now! 

The whale and the shark are sporting the while. 
And a thousand odd sights my moments beguile. 

But there is no sight, no sound half so dear, 

As the sweets of thy voice, which oft did me cheer; 

'Tis my daily repast to think about you. 

And 01 how it pains me to bid you adieu. 

Yet 'tis a sweet boon, far more precious than gold. 
To have such dear friends; but it ne'er can be told 
How dear parents and friends yet cling to my heart, 
And yet I am forced from them all to depart. 

Though I long to regain my distant sweet home, 
To rest from my toils, not soon more to roam. 
Yet 0! how it grieves me to think we must part — 
It goes like a dagger to my bleeding heart. 



124 COTTON S KEEPSAKE. 

I call up to mind your great kindness to me, 
And could wish Avhere you ure there I ever might be; 
Ah, long shall I cherish, with heartfelt delight, 
The sweets of that visit of which I now write. 

Can language e'er tell with how joyful a tear 
We met and embraced each other, my dear? 
Sweet be the mem'ry of that happy night — 
I weep o'er the scene while thus I do write. 

How sacred the spot where first we did meet! 
How frantic we ran each other to greet! 
And anon w'e forgot all our toil and our pain. 
Till we called up to mind w^e must soon part again. 

That time has arrived — our parting scene o'er — 
And I never, perhaps, shall see your face more ; 
But I know" that I leave you with a heart warm with love, 
And hail the glad time wdien we '11 all meet above. 

I bid you adieu Avith cheeks bathed in tears — . 
If ever to meet, not for many long years; 
With mourning and anguish my heart is quite riven, 
But my cheering hope is to meet you in heaven. 

How precious the thought, we all shall meet there. 
If we earnestly seek it by faith and by prayer ; 
There all of our wand'rings shall be at an end. 
Nor shall we more weep for " an absent sweet friend." 

Then here is my heart, and here is my hand, 
As " a pledge" that I'll meet you in that happy land, 
Where we shall for ever with each other dwell; 
And now, sister dear, fare you w^ell, fare you well. 

A. J. Cotton. 

N. B. — In these letters, there is a great sameness both in sen- 
timent and in expression. I give them because they wero 



EPISTOLARY. 125 

written to several sisters, and to show the gushing affection 
existing between us ; as also to show how easily the same senti- 
ments can bo expressed in different poetic numbers. A similar 
sameness will appear in some of the other poems; because, not 
dreaming of ever publishing them in a book, I have, when con- 
venient, quoted from myself, and can not now strike out if I 
would. 



SUPEKSCRIPTIONS, OR POETIC DIRECTIONS OF 
LETTERS. 



I give a few only, which I have changed, from time to time, to 
suit; and now my friends may use them in the same manner 
if they choose. Their composition amused me somewhat, 
and if they shall amuse any of my young readers, to their 
profit, my aim in their publication will be accomplished. 



To the cold State of Maine, where mountains soar high, 
And where, at Thanksgiving, there 's no end to good pie ; 
To Portland, fair town, where I ought to be, 
And where " a fair damsel " is waiting for me ; 
So, generous post-rider, take me with full speed 
To Louisa P. Cotton, who may open and read. 



In the mail that is owned by old Uncle Sam, 
I wish for a seat — quite peaceable I am ; 
'T is but a short journey that I wish to go, 
And my stopping-place in advance you shall know. 

For paper and ink, and wafer and all, 

Is to the postmaster, Isaac Bedsaul, 

Of the town of New Castle, the fair county-seat 

Of the county of Henry, where litigants meet. 



126 cotton's keepsake. 

In the State of Ia., the famed hoosier ground, 
Where peace and great plenty profusely abound: 
So, generous post-rider, take me with full speed 
To the said Isaac Bedsaul, who may open and read. 



In him who bears the U. S. mail, 
Through heat and cold, and mud and hail, 
And seldom e'er was known to fail, 

Do I confide. 
Please take me, sir, to Castle New, 
On the east bank of river Blue, 
The county-seat, most surely true, 

Of Henry. 
Should any one your speed oppose. 
Just "touch him azy" on the nose. 
Or let your horse tramp on his toes — 

Poor fellow! 
Or if you choose, most gentle rider. 
Just tramp him down as though a spider- 
Then swing your whip a little wider — 

Gro Dobbin. 
Thus go ahead with all your speed — 
To this advice will you give heed? 
Yes! who shall break the seal and read? 

John Bennett. 
Pshaw! go away with your "one-horse team," 
You 're behind the times — we now use steam — - 
That is as nice as "ice and cream" 

In hot weather. 



To THE Honorable A. Lane, at Washington City — 
He's a congressman there — few men are more witty; 



EPISTOLARY. 12V 

The anti-bank horse Lane gracefully strode — 
Over every opposition triumphantly rode. 

His opponent was, though doomed to a fall, 

A man of fine talents, and virtue withal ; 

Lane's friends are well pleased with the course he pursues ; 

To him, without doubt, this ^11 be pleasant news. 

Will the carrier please, for the sake of the fun, 
To ride as did Gilpin till my journey is done. 



Halloo ! Uncle Sam, if there ain't a jam 

In the bag that you use for the mail ; 
Just stow me right in as nice as a pin, 

And take me along right away, without fail. 
Just put on the steam to your " iron-horse " team, 

And hasten him on o'er mountain and plain; 
All day and all night, just " put him through " right, 

Nor slacken your speed this side of old Maine; 
But when you get there, for aught that I care. 

Just hand me right over to some faithful friend, 
"Who '11 make no delay in sending me away 

To PowNAL, fair town, where my journey will end. 
There Sarah C. Kenney, without dime or penny. 

Will farther dispose of me as she shall think best; 
If she open and read, to that I 'm agreed, 

After which I hope to " lay by " and rest. 



To HIM who has charge of Uncle Sam's mail, 

I have some thing to say — please hear without fail : 

I am out on an errand of friendship and love. 

And fain would I hasten along- 
Just give me a ride in your swift whirling car, 

And I '11 give you the rest of my song. 



128 cotton's keepsake. 

I'm for Manchester village, in old Dearborn county, 
In the State of Indiana — prepaid is my bounty; 
Then rush me along, at the top of your speed, 
To Mrs. D. P. Cotton, who will open and read. 



HYMENEAL PUNNINGS 



The heart, the heart was never made, 

To beat for self alone, 
Nor die within its dunpjeon shade, 

Forgotten, and alone." 



In this department I had intended to record the names of all the 
parties, it has been my pleasure and " good fortune " to join 
together in the pleasing indissoluble " Bands of Matrimony," 
together with the original or selected lines, accompanying 
the announcement in the journals of the day. But I find 
that it would occupy much more space than I can, with any 
degree of propriety, appropriate to it. Therefore my readers 
must be content with those susceptible of a pun, and surely 
not one in a dozen is, try it who may. I have introduced a 
few "out of my line," just for the sake of the pun, which is 
mine, also out of great personal friendship. The unnamed 
parties whom I have married, will appropriate and apply to 
themselves the following, among others of the same kind 
which I have often used. 



These happy grooms, these beauteous brides, so lovely and so 

fair, 
Won from each guest a kind salute, a blessing and a prayer. 
may their course through life be smooth, and peace her 

radiance shed, 
And all the paths through which the}^ roam, with pleasing 

flowers be spread. 

(129) 



130 COTTONS KEEPSAKE. 

This beauteous bride, fair as tbe rose, 

And amiable as fair, 
Was a jewel bright — to woe and win 

As all who know declare. 



This very sweet and lovely bride, 

Kichly deserves a lay, 
But my Muse 
Has got " the blues," 

And will not sing to-day. 



Excuse me fair one, if you please, 
My Muse has gone away, 

I fain vjowXdi treat you to a, pun, 
But can't, you see, to-day. 



These specimens and these apologies, it is hoped, will be 
abundantly satisfactory to all my unnamed friends in the pre- 
mises. I give this department a place, because I never saw a per- 
son, young or old, that did not relish and enjoy a good pun. And 
some of mine at least, will come within that rule most assuredly. 
But to be healthful and pleasing, small portions only of this 
chapter should be read at one time. A dinner all of spice would 
be both sickening and disgusting. So gentle reader, use a little 
at a time, and then something more substantial — and it will give 
a better zest, and last the longer. These punnings have excited 
a great deal of innocent merriment and amusement, as they were 
originally, and are now intended here. Wherever I could, I 
have altered a little, and blended two or more together, so as to 
" kill two or more birds with one stone." Editors have not un- 
frequently spoken of them in terms of the highest commenda- 
tion, and praise, which is certainly a good index to the public 
taste and pleasure in them. I here give one little editorial out 
of many similar ones, as a sample, which I follow with an 
Hymeneal Acrostic, and then I shall proceed and introduce you 



HYMENEAL PUNNINGS. 131 

to my punnings generally, simply naming the parties with great 
brevity, and hope their perusal will prove "a pleasant pastime." 
"Judge Cotton, of Dearborn county, Indiana, has for many 
years enjoyed a very liberal hymeneal patronage. The young 
people flock to him to be joined in one^ and he does the business 
with a grace and ease that does honor to him. After it is over, 
ho writes out the marriage notice and sends to the paper for 
publication, often appending very happy remarks. Here are 
the lines he appended to the marriage notice of Wilson Wright 
to Miss Harriet True." 



Discreet and modest from her youth, 

None surely need complain, 
Though this fair Miss with all her charms 

Will ne 'er be — True again. 

Aye why should one complain of this, 
As all the thoughtless might ; 

Do what she will — a privilege rare — 
She surely will be — Wright. 



HYMENEAL ACROSTIC. 

My much esteemed and cherished friend, 

I write you this Acrostic with 

Sentiments of the profoundest respect, kindness and esteem, 

Simply because of its novelty and your well deserved merit. 

Perhaps my fair friend, that no period in the 
History of a young lady's life is more thrilling or 
Essentially interesting, than the moment when standing 
Before the "hymeneal altar" she solemnly, yet hopefully, 
Enters the " matrimonial state " and assumes its responsibilities. 

Entertaining these views as I most assuredly do, permit 

Me to congratulate you and all yours upon your happy espousal, 



132 cotton's keepsake. 

In common with your very numerous friends. 

Loth as we are to lose your very agreeable society we 

Yield our pleasures to your personal interest and happiness. 

Could the "fond hopes" and "good wishes" of friends avail, 
Luxurious sweets of the purest kind would crowd and crown 
All your happy days upon the earth — may you never 
Repent the choice you have made, or the step taken — but 
Kept from all its bitter woes, may you enjoy all the sweets of 
life in rich and profuse abundance, as you so richly deserve, 
is the earnest prayer of your true Feiend. 



Well, well Mr. Hymen now you have done it, 
Else there 's no truth in rhyme nor this little sonnet. 
Pretty well that — whether funny or cross — 
To change a fair Miss all into Ross. 

Philander Ross and Nancy Kelso, 
Alvah A¥. Ross and Adaline Whitehead, 
John Moss (Ross) and Elizabeth Jordan, 
Daniel Ross and Emeline Pettigrue, 
Jonathan Ross and Sarah Roberts. 

Friend Jonathan at your request I've changed this Misa 

to Ross, 
And forthwith place her in your care, lest she should suffer 

loss; 
! treat her kindly for my sake, she 's worthy of your care. 
May you together happy live, is both my wish and prayer. 



Elisha P. Rogers and Lucy Ross, 

Zadok S. Bennett and Minerva Ross, 

Thomas M. Phillis and Emeline Ross, 

Erasmus Smith and Eliza Ross, 

James Talman and Mary Ross, 

Russel C. Freeland and Elizabeth Moss, (Ross,) 

John Bruce and Jane Ross, 

Adam Bruce and Alcy Ross. 



HYMENEAL PUNNINGS. 133 

While Cupid paused to fix his bow, lest they should suffer 

loss, 
These happy grooms bound to their hearts a little pretty 

Ross, (Moss,) 
I have no doubt it answered well, and put their hearts at 

ease. 
And happy surely they will live, if they each other please. 

N. B. This is quite enough for once, dear reader. 



Shubal L. Meader and Mary Rice, 

George W. Rice and Laura J. Fielding, 

John Dashiell and Nancy Rice, 

Rufus Rice and Sarah Ferris, 

Elijah Ellengwood and Abigail Rice. 

James Rice and Miss , 

Mr. and Lucy Rice, 

John Rice and Emily Roberts. 
These "brides and grooms'' alternately, with tastes refined 

and nice, 
Of all the pleasant fruits of earth, preferred a little Rice. 
I have no doubt 't was wisely done, and made them all 

right merry, 
The brides I know were beautiful as ever was a cherry. 



Charles Angevine and Catherine Skaats. 
A mean, penurious, little mind. 

Its prosperous neighbor often hates, 
But my friend Charles is quite content, 

Just with his own new yreiiy Skaats. 



James Cooper and Miss Darling. 
"Go it" Hymen, while you're young, 

" Go it like a trooper I" 
Since you can change a pretty Miss 

Into a 'pretty Cooper. 



134 cotton's keepsake. 

Joseph Kelso and Margaret Stone. 
**A pretty hard case," we all have to own, 
To suppose that affection could flow from a Stone. 
But Joseph knew more than most of men do, 
He won a fair Bride, kind loving and true. 



Joseph White and Jane Lynes; George Lynes and 
LuciNDA White. 

Of all the dazzling hues, 

That sparkle in the light, 
These brides and grooms alternately, 
Are all the time for White. 



Samuel Lewis to Lucinda Wright; Edward Evans to 
LuciNDA Wright. 

How many errors men commit, 

When marriage vows they plight! 
But my young friends, it will be seen, 

Have wisely chosen Wright; 
And yet, by Hymen's magic power, 

(Was ever the like before?) 
Though he has wisely chosen Wright, 

That Wright is Wright no more. 



Jonathan C. Rittenhouse to Jane S. Angevine. 
A house and a vine are both pleasant to see, 
But the RIGHT kind of house and vine it should be. 
The fittest and best that love could entwine, 
Is a fine Ritten-house and a sweet Ange-vine. 



The Rev. Mr. Goodwin to Miss Content Craft. 
Cupid ! how thy bewitching melting darts 
Unites in one two pure and loving hearts; 
This joyous groom, with his fair sweet blushing bride, 
Has thus launched forth on life's uneven tide. 



HYMENEAL PUNNINGS. 135 

His gallant Craft " Content," all beauteous to behold, 
More precious far to him than thrice her weight in gold, 
Will make his voyage o'er life's tempestuous sea, 
Tranquil and sweet, as " summer evenings be." 



General Charles Mills to Mrs. Eliza Price. 
The General fought the battle well, 

Which Cupid first begun ; 
The fairest conquest he obtained, 

As fair as e'er was won. 
Each grand manoeuver, all admit, 

He managed very nice. 
And Hymen paid him for his skill 

The richest, siveetest Price. 



Nathan A. Hurd to Malina Dashiell. 
0! may the path of life be smooth 

Which their glad feet shall tread, 
And all the walks through which they rove, 

With pleasing flowers be spread. 
0! may the smile of Fortune cheer, 

And drive dull cares away, 
And every hour of life be clear 

As a sweet morn in May." 
Thus may their days glide on in peace, 
And may their flocks and "Hurds" increase. 



Francis Kiddle to Sarah M. Ward. 
Well, well, Mr. Hymen, 

You never need " hang up your fiddle," 
While you can change a pretty Miss 

Into a pretty Riddle. 



WiLLiAii Holmes to Harriet Amanda Eolling. 
How many poor, in utter want, 
This broad earth sadly roam; 



136 COTTON^S KEEPSAKE. 

But this fair bride, it will be seen, 
Has home, aye, happy Holmes. 



John P. Snell to Emeline Flint. 
What a fancy, friend Snell, 

Though beautiful the tint, 
To choose for a bride 

A pretty little Flint. 

Who but thou couldst perceive, 
Without measure or stint, 

Pure love would gush forth 
From the heart of a Flint. 

Young gentlemen all, here 
I will give you "a hint:" 

A most lovely, sweet bride 
Was the modest "Miss Flint." 



James McGinnis to Eliza Ann Miracle. 
What merry pranks has Hymen played, 

E'en since the days of yore ; 
He sports with names and Miracles 

Till they are so no more ! 



Peter Platt to Susan N. Milliken. 

Please tell me, you who know, 

(Those are excused who can't,) 
How this man's brother is his uncle — 

His brother's wife his aunt. 
Still wilder pranks has Hymen played 

By the union of these twain; 
The mother of this happy groom 

Is mother to him again. 



HYMENEAL PUNNINGS. 137 

ANSWER. 

Josiah Piatt, "long time ago," 

Married a fair damsel, even so, even so ; 

Then old Mr. Piatt— what a twister!— 

Soon afterward married his son's wife's sister; 

And now gallant Peter not long did loiter, 

Till he took for his spouse his step-mother's daughter; 

So now, my young friends, I 've 'splained the whole riddle, 

If you can't understand it, you ain't worth a fiddle. 



Columbus C. Pease to Eachel Conger. 
In this gay world of fruits and flowers. 

There's naught that some will please; 
But 'twill be seen this damsel fair 

At least is fond of Pease. 



William Dunn to Margaret Milliken. 
The rainbow's rich and golden hue — 
The orange, violet, and the blue; 

Take these rich colors every one, 
And naught delights this fair young miss, 
At least not half so much, as this — 

A brilliant, neat, and living "Dunn.'' 



Erasmus D. Hathaway to Eliza A. Ransom. 
This happy, joyous groom was about twenty-nine — 
'Mazin' near as you see the " old bachelor" line ; 
But the blushing sweet bride gave herself a fair Ransom, 
And thus rescued her friend most handsomely handsome. 
'T was a pleasant affair, and the parties well matched — 
The priest, ever ready, soon the business dispatched ; 
All their friends were well pleased, and each greeted the 

pair 
With many a warm blessing, and a silent warm prayer. 
12 



138 cotton's keepsake. 

Ira Tinker and Ella McMullin; Saiiuel Tinker and 
Miss Likely, 

Now, Hymen, y^ou have done it, sure, 

Else I am no good thinker ; 
Change so fair a damsel, eh I 

Into a pretty Tinker 1 



Robert D. Brown and Elizabeth Conway. 
Of all the bright and gorgeous tints, 

In nature, country, city, town. 
This happy, neat, and "beau tons bride," 

Is most delighted with a Brown. 



Peter C. Taylor and Catharine Pardxjn. 
" An adage of old," is something like this, 
"We make our own fortunes," not so with this Miss. 
She trusts all to her Taylor, and "whether foul or fair," 
As he shall "cut and make," she now will have to wear. 



John Weimer and Catharine Bird, (both elderly.) 
This bride must have a husband kind, 

No matter who may grin or laugh, 
Or else that adage is not true, 

You can not catch "old birds with chaff." 



Joseph Hunter and Rhoda Conger, Philip H. Hunter 
and Martha Crouch. 

Pray Mr. Hymen just by what rule. 
Was it your own or " Gunter's ?" 
You learned these brides so soon to be 
Such nice and pretty Hunters. 



David Barkdoll and Elizabeth Lake. 
This groom has won a fortune fair, 

He has without the least mistake, 
His wedding portion as you see, 

Was a whole, nice pretty Lake. 



HYMENEAL PUNNINGS. 139 



Blackley Shoemake and Mercy Prest. 

Thrice happy man by fortune blest — 
Instead of cares, by Mercy Prest ; 
His days will all glide smoothly by; 
Mercy her utmost e'er will try 
To wipe the tear from sorrow's eye, 
Till he or she is called to die. 



As both of the following parties have become eminently 
honorable and useful, and " far-famed " withal, it might per- 
chance not be agreeable to them to be noticed in this manner, 
and so I leave you all to guess if you can — a fruitful and an 
amusing theme for conjecture. Don't all guess right the first 
time now — though I should not wonder if you did. 

Mr. M and Miss S . 



Two elevated minds, 

Of pure and noble hearts, 

Have fallen each an easy prey, 
To " Hymen's piercing darts." 

But friends do not repine, they rather do rejoice, 
And all most heartily approve the wisdom of their choice. 
May yure " domestic bliss " crown all their earthly days, 
And they hereafter re-unite redeeming love to praise. 



Dr. Leroy and Miss Bowers. 

Well ! well ! upon my word if that do n't " beat the Jews," 
In these 'ere times when all are broke, or tightly "feel the 

screws." 
Thus to be freed from cares and woes by Hymen's *' magic 

powers," 
And then so sweetly to enjoy one's own ddiglitful Bowers. 



140 cotton's keepsake. 

John A. IIarpham and Mary F. Lynn. 

All men 'tis said do lack a rib, which they should each 

supply, 
Of such materials as shall seem most pleasing to the eye. 
One prefers this — another that — and happy those who win. 
Of all on earth friend Harpham, chose a neat and pretty 

Lynn. 



Zephaniah IIeustis and Elizabeth Steel. 

Zephaniah ! Zephaniah ! 

How your poor Ma must feel, 
To think her dearest son 

Should be inclined to Steel. 



William Whitney, of Maine, to Jane Fox, of Ind. 
Of Mr. Whitney it may well be said — that 

He journeyed far from his native place, 
From those,, low vales and towering rocks, 

And gave to fortune "a successful chase," 
And lo I he caught a pretty Fox. 



Thomas Slack and Mary West. 
Dear Mary I would fondly hope, 

That you will never suffer lack, 
Though your husband I am sure, 

Will "remain for ever'' Slack. 



Lewis Hunter and Maria Martin. 

This sportsman, ! with what delight. 
O'er hill and dale pursued the flight, 
How long "the chase," I am not sartin, 
But this I know — he caught the Martin. 



HYMENEAL PUNNINGS. 141 

"William Briggs and Isabella Rowe. 
Of all the pretty crafts that float, 

Or sailor ever rigs, 
This pretty bride as here you see, 
Invests her all in Briggs. 



Addison Chandler and Mart E. Hedge. 
Affection ^tis a tender plant which we should well enclose, 
For though most lovely in itself, it still has many foes. 
True wisdom then my friend has shown as well I may 

allege, 
For he has planted round his heart a neat and jyrethj Hedge. 



John C. Moore and Ruth Dowden, Levin S. Moore and 
Mary Ann Dowden. 

These fair young ladies, full well I know, 

Had goods and cash in store, 
In great abundance one would think, 
But still they wanted Moore. 

Well, more they got, I know that, too, but still as 'twas 

before — 
They were unhappy all the time unless they could have 

Moore. 
My saucy Muse now I don 't choose to hear " one single word 

more" — 
If you don 't mind, right soon you '11 find yourself kicked out 

of door 



Peter Platter and Sarah McCracken, 
Said Cupid unto Miss one day, ask of me what you will, 
And if it be within my power, promptly I'll "fill the bill." 
That is most generous to be sure, indeed "I would not 

jiatter^' 
Well, all I ask you to bestow is just one single Platter. 



142 cotton's keepsake. 

John Mastin and Louisa Dean". 
So sweet a bride 
As fair Miss Dean 
Could scarce be beat 
By " Vic. the Queen." 



John Seely and Clementine B. Cook. 
In the parlor, in the kitchen, 

Yes, or wherever you may look, 
There ^s nought makes home more blest and happy 

Than a nice, neat, pretty little cook. 



Moses Cook and Philena Hawk. 

When Cupid bent his bow and sped his dart, 
To bring this keen-eyed bird with gushing heart, 
Close by his side friend Moses stood, 
And clapped his hands, and shouted good! good! 
The priest who joined this happy pair. 

Has made a world of happy talk, 
For he would neither dine nor sup ; 

Till he had CooK-ed this pretty Hawk. 



John P. Lemon and Kate C. Pink. 
My stars ! dear only think, a Lemon and a Pink, 

Unite and blend in one. 
To meet the "ills of life/' as husband and as wife, 

'Way down to Rising Sun, 
The Pink 's a pretty flower, a Lemon rather sour, 

Will make a pretty tart. 
And give a pleasing zest, to sweeten all the rest, 

If truly "one in heart." 
! may they each pursue the paths of virtue true. 

And ever happy be. 
And at the close of life, wind up "the mortal strife, 

In love's unbounded sea, 



HYMENEAL PUNNINGS. 143 

And sail the ocean o'er, on that immortal shore, 

Where all is peace and love. 
And with a golden Ijre, join the triumphant choir, 

In realms of bliss above. 



Nicholas Echhan and Eva B. Herring. 

What freaks of fancy and of taste reveal themselves in life, 
And often do such things occur in "hunting up a wife." 
I hope 'twill turn out in the end that Nicholas was un- 
erring, 
When he chose him for a bride a pretty little Herring. 



Francis M. Johnson and Mart Davis, William Jen- 
NESON and Emily Davis. Both at once. 

The fair goddess of May, in her floral robes clad. 

Could not have looked more lovely — why, "all nature 

seemed glad;" 
The warm greetings of friends, from hearts most sincere, 
Illumed the gay scenes, and gave it "good cheer," 
'Twas a season of joy to all who were there — 
The viands were ample, and most sumptuous the fare: 
May the sunshine of plenty attend them through life. 
And they ever be strangers to " contention and strife,'' 
Is the prayer of Manchester Bard. 



David Porter and Miss Lucinda Baldridge.. 

'Twas Hymen's turn to " treat this time," 

As an Hymeneal sporter, 
What will you have fair Miss ? said he, — 

just a little Porter, 



Gilbert Platt and Elizabeth N. AYilcox. 
Said Miss unto Hymen, will you please change my name! 
You've a fair one now, my nice pretty dame: 



144 cotton's keepsake. 

That is all true, full well I know that, 

But I would much rather be called Mrs. Platt. 

The case was made out, and Hymen complied, 

So far as to change Miss into a Bride. 

When your kind friend hands Judge Cotton that — (th'* 

license,) 
He'll soon change your name, and you all to Platt. 
'T was done at a word, and a fairer sweet bride, 
You scarce ever would find in many a year's ride. 



Steven V. Potntsll and Mary M. Cross, Myron Haynes 

and Celestine Cross. 

Young gentlemen do n't once complain, 

Should joy and peace all go to loss, 
"What else indeed could you expect. 

In chosing wives you knew were Cross. 
But then the promise comes in here, 

He shall by no means suffer loss, 
Who does his duty faithfully, 

Nor shuns, but cheerful takes his Cross. 



George H. Dunn and Aljiarinda Slater. 
When Cupid hurled his melting darts, 
At these two pure and loving hearts, 

He thought to have such "lots of fun/' 
But this fair Miss as all may know, 
Paid him his due for intruding so, 

Then blushing sweetly said I ^m Dunn. 



Reuben Freeman and Mary Jane Prest ; Edward Free- 
man and Paulina Hamline. 

These happy brides both scorn to be 

Ruled by a tyrant demon, 
There's nought to them worth living for, 
Except to be a Freeman. 



HYMENEAL PUNNINGS. 145 

Willi a:m C Kxapp and Eliza Htjlts; Thomas Craiq 
and Mary Knapp. 

While Cupid strung his unstrung bow, 

To make his arrow snap, 
This bride and groom alternately, 

Just took a pretty Knapp. 



Joel Bledso and Sarah Jane Swan. 

Of all the pretty little birds 
That flit o'er hill or lawn, 

My friend, you see, prefers by far, 
A pretty little Swan. 



Daniel Plumjier and Eliza Hunt; Martin C. Ewbank 
and Mary Hunt. 

To say these grooms were "fond of game," 

I can't in truth, and won't, 
But this I know, each of them once, 

Did take a pretty Hunt. 



Charles Angevine and Cornelia Davenport. 

Now all along " the sea of life," 
You will find many a pleasing port. 

But none more fine and beautiful 

Than this same fair Miss Daven-port. 



Sylvanus Hall and Eliza Mathews, 
Samuel Beggs and Francesetta Hall, 
Benjamin Hall and Emily M. Hicklin, 
Joseph Hall and Ann H. Collier, 
Thomas C. Hall and Mary Ann Beggs, 
Absalom Hall and Rhoda Heustis, 
Hezekiah Hall and Ann Ellis. 
13 



146 cotton's keepsake. 

Mathew Hall and Mary Scott. 

Fine mansions, poor houses, 

Or no houses at all, 
These parties are all sure 

Of a very fine Hall. 



Kev A. J. Cotton and Dolly {Dorothy) P. Noyes, 
Capt. Benjamin Sylvester and Sarah Noyes, 
Hon. James P. Milliken and Priscilla Noyes, 
Peter C. Wilcox and Eliza Noyes, 
Ephraim Crouch and Martha Noyes, 
Amasa Sawyer and Mary Noyes, 
Andrew L. Morris and Lucinda C. Noyes, 
George W, Morris and Sarah Jane Noyes, 
Alden H. Jumper and Amanda Noyes, 
Abner Tibbetts and Polly Noyes, 
James Selders and Augusta Noyes, 
John Freeland and Hellen R. Noyes, 
Elmer Garrigus and Dorothy C. Noyes, 

It seems that Hymen has his freaks 

The same as other men. 
Just call upon him when well pleased, ^ 

And he'll oblige you then. 
These happy grooms were all, " in time," tired of a single 

life— 
They called to see if Mr, Hymen would just treat them to a 

wife. 
Their hearts within them leaped for joy when Hymen 

answered yea. 
But still I think, my dear young friends, there is a better way. 

Of all the ladies on the globe, I'll give you each his choice. 
Bless you, thank you, my good sir, of course I'll take Miss 

Noyes. 
And fairer brides you '11 seldom see than this or that Miss 

Noyes, 
And all most heartily approve the wisdom of their choice. 



HYMENEAL PUNNINGS. 147 

The last named couple were the last I ever married, and in all 
human probability the last I ever shall. During my protracted 
illness, the business has gone into other hands, and feeble and 
old as I am, I can not, and do not expect it ever to come back 
to me. Well be it so, I am both happy and content — my cup 
is full, and I cordially give place to others. Two parties in one 
day will do pretty well to quit on, won't it? On the same day, 
and only a few hours earlier, I had the pleasure to join William 
Robinson and Rebecca Oldham in *' The silken tie that binds 
two willing hearts.'' 

This very fair and lovely bride richly deserves a pun, 
But Muse has tried his best, SiXxH just canH make one; 
Miss Lotte now is all that's left, another jewel rare, 
And he who wins her for a bride, wins something nice and 
fair. 

And this is " what the shoemaker threw at his wife." The 
last and all (awl.) 

Well, I have had a most liberal Hymeneal patronage in my 
time, and have enjoyed it finely, you may be sure. 

To see these happy and delighted grooms as they lead to the 
Hymeneal Altar, trembling, joyous, beauteous brides, gorgeously 
or neatly decorated and adorned, with their modest temples 
tastefully ornamented, or gracefully shaded with their "rich 
and flowing tresses," with heaving bosoms and with sparkling 

Eyes like twin stars behind some cloud, 
That comes their brilliant light to shroud, 
Eich tresses of the auburn glow, 
Free waving o'er a brow of snow ; 
"With happy bosoms heaving, swelling, 
Where Cupid claims and holds his duelling — 

is ever to me a luxury and a treat, solemnly, yet pleasingly 
interesting and delightful. Three couples in a da}'-, five in a 
week, and thirteen in a month, is what may be termed " putting 
in my best licks," And now as I started out with an editorial, 
I will also conclude with one. And here it is : 



148 cotton's keepsake. 

"The appearance of early winter has driven the youngsters 
about Manchester to desperation. No less than five couple were 
united in the holy bands of matrimony, by Judge Cottonj last 
week." 

But alas ! alas ! 

How man}' a joyous, beanteoiis bride, 

IIow many a liappy groom, 
Have passed Irom earth and friends away, 

To slumber in the tomb. 

Finally, I will here give one very " tall Hymeneal punning 
snap" that I once got into, and then I '11 quit — I will. While 
at Indianapolis, several years ago, I was "an invited guest" to 
a tea party, at the Rev. John C. Smith's, who is extensively 
known as an eminent Minister of the Gospel of Christ. After 
the " introductory ceremonies " were over, one of the ladies 
said : Judge, I have often been amused and entertained with 
your Hymeneal punnings, which I often find going the rounds 
in the papers. Now Judge, sister Smith here has been married 
only a few weeks, suppose you treat her to a pun. Icebergs, 
cataracts, and whirlpools — what a fix ! ! ! I that I had not beea 
invited, or had not been able to attend ! But there I was, and 
"in for it," and must get out the best way I could. A failure, 
or even a seeming delay, would be fatal to ray punning reputa- 
tation. What I did, I must do quickly. And I "pitched in" 
forthwith, by saying, well, ladies, how will something like this 
do? 

In this gay world of rich delights, 

There's much each taste to please, 
The roaring of the cataract. 

The waving of the trees, 
The wide extended verdant plains. 

The music of a rill ; 
But%iost of all my friend admires, 

A neat and %yreUy Hill. ^ 

And, I do assure jo\x that that took me out "clear as a quill." 
Sister Smith blushed sweetly and modestly, and all the ladies 
waved their handkerchiefs and clapped their hands for joy. 
And, of course, I was " the lion" of the day. But the end was 



HYMENEAL PUNNINGS. 149 

not yet, as the Hon. 0. H, Smith says in his pleasing " remi- 
niscences." In the morning, as the fates would have it, Brother 
Smith called upon me at the court room, (for I was attending 
the United States Court,) and said his lady would feel much 
obliged if I would write down those lines for her. certainly, 
sir, with the greatest pleasure. Well, Judge, said he, here is 
the Rev. Mr. Berry, one of our city ministers, who was also 
married a short time ago. Can you do any thing for Brother 
Berry? And there stood Brother Berry, and Judge McLean and 
others, waiting court hour. ! that I had gone home in the 
morning earlj^ — or that, like Alexander Selkirk, I were an in- 
habitant of some lone island that slumbers upon the bosom of 
the mighty deep. ! that I had been in the moon, or almost 
anywhere else; but there I was, and forthwith rolled up my 
sleeves and " pitched in," as though nothing was the matter. 
Since you desire it, I '11 try. How will this do ? 

Those who are greedy to possess 

More than their share of good 
Endanger all and fool themselves. 

Just as such people should. 
But this fair Miss, it will be seen, 

Is very modest — very — 
For she is happy and content 

With just one single Beret. 

Well if that did n't raise quite a shout and a clatter, I would n't 
say it, and none seemed better to enjoy it than Judge McLean 
himself. My trusty Muse played her part well. But before I 
had time to congratulate myself upon my punning conquest, 
what should Brother Smith say, but, — well, Judge, I have one 
more case for you, and if you can make any thing out of that 
I should like to know it, and then I'll " let you up." In this 
city a short time since, a Mr. Green maj'ried a Miss Pigg. 
" Hail Columbia !" Caverns and volcanoes ! what a fix and what 
a case. Well Brother Smith that is some surely ; but as I never 
yet was stalled, I'll try it, "hit or miss." And it came out a 
double pun, and the richest of the lot, and scared up "a perfect 
hurra's nest," and no mistake. 



150 cotton's keepsake. 



What various tastes do men display- 
In tlie affairs of life, 

And odd and many are their freaks 
In choosing out a wife ; 

And thus my friend a little Green, 
As if to run some rig, 

Chose for his own sweet bosom friend, 
A pretty little — PiGG. 



And then "I sloped" — 1 did — and so I will now. 



ODES 



TO SABBATH SCHOOLS. 

AIK— AULD LANG SYNE. 
CANTO I. 

I give place to a full jury of Odes, and my friends must let me 
up at that for lack of room. They are quite lengthy, but 
could not well be otherwise. 



Awake my muse, the Sabbath Schools 

Now claim a lay from thee; 
And teachers, as "your work of love," 

My offering is free. 

Soon will these boys become '^ young men," 
These girls "young ladies too," 

Their moral culture for the time, 
Entrusted is to you. 

The first impressions that are made, 

Are lasting as the mind, 
See to it then that every one 

To virtue be inclined. 

O 'tis indeed a tender charge, 

To have the care of youth, 
To lead them from the " haunts of vice," 

In all " the path of truth." 

(151) 



152 cotton's keepsake. 

And yet it is a " pleasing task," 

Those lessons to impart, 
That strengthen and improve the mind 

And purify the heart. 

Eternity alone can tell 

The good you will have done, 

Then onward roll the enterprise 
Rejoicing every one. 

CANTO II. 

Now scholars dear I pray you all 

Hallow God's holy day, 
And love your school, your teachers, too, 

Who often for you pray. 

Let God be first in whom you trust, 
And he shall guide you well, 

What you should do, and what eschew, 
His word and spirit tell. 

The precepts that are clearly taught 
In God's most precious book, 

Would comfort and sustain you all 

Though heaven and earth were shook. 

I think alas! how soon will pass 
The pleasing scenes of youth, 

And what I now do say to you 
You '11 find to be a truth. 

This world of woe through which you go 
Is full of" pits and snares," 

"Unless you daily " watch and pray " 
You '11 fall in unawares 



ODES. - 153 

The fatal bowl which blights the soul, 

O ! dash at once away, 
'T will ruin all, both great and small, 

And drain the purse to pay. 

The brightest hopes the fairest flowers 

Before it droop and die, 
Then say dear youth I'll "touch it not," 

Nor I — nor I — nor I — . 

You will succeed in rapid speed 

To rule in Church or State, 
! try and qualify yourselves 

For trusts that are so great. 

Our stripes and stars will very soon 

Be trusted to your care, 
May you be ready to receive 

And keep them bright and fair. 

And may the God of peace and love 

Direct your roving feet. 
And in the "house not made with hands," 

May we at last all meet. 

CANTO III. 

Now friends and neighbors one and all 
Keep up "the Sabbath Schools;" 

They will do more for tender youth 
Than arbitrary rules. 

They'll save your sons and daughters fair, 

From ruin and from sin, 
To rear them up just as you should 

You early should begin. 



154 cotton's keepsake. 

No better means, no fitter times 

Instruction to impart, 
As "Sabbath Schools" directly tend 

To train the infant heart. 

They everywhere are gotten up 
By men both good and wise, 

O ! cherish and sustain them well 
And rich will be the prize. 



FOR A FOURTH OF JULY TEMPERANCE CELE- 
BRATION. 



AIR— AT7LD LANG SYNE, 



The Temperance Ball, the Temperance Ball ! 

Let 's keep it on the roll, 
Till doggeries, those sinks of woe, 

Are crushed from pole to pole. 

And every " Still Tub " in the land 
Be knocked the " t' other side " up, 

And spill the swill that makes the " bmie " 
" That sparkles in the cup." 

The streams of death that issue forth 

From every smoking Still, 
Are blighting all our brightest hopes, 

And all our prisons fill. 

! think it o'er — mature it well; 

That "fip"" upon thy corn 
May crush the hopes of many friends, 

And leave them quite forlorn. 



ODES. 155 

Our fathers fouglit, and bled, and died, 

Despising ease and gain ; 
And to be worthy of those sires 

We all should do the same. 

Shall we claim kindred to those men, 

Who live alone for self? 
And scatter woe, disease and death 

To treasure up our pelf? 

Nay; starve "the Worm " of every Still — 

Convert your grain to bread, 
And send it round from door to door 

Till all the poor are fed. 

Ye topers and ye tipplers, too, 

Though late, you are "in time" — 
The second Declaration's here — 

0! come you up and "sign !" 

Throw off at once the galling yoke 

King Alcohol imposes; 
He drains your purse — pollutes your breath, 

And hums to red your Noses ! 

** Hope of my country," dear young men, 

come ! and " sign the pledge :" 
'Twill save your country, save you, too. 

As thousands can allege. 

Disease and death lurk in the bowl. 

The mind 'twill shatter, too; 
How can you then preserve the trust 

That soon will fall to you? 



156 cotton's keepsake. 

The destiny of " Cliurcli and State " 
Will in your hands be placed, 

And if unholy, drunken men, 
Both sure will be disgraced. 

Our Stripes and Stars will very soon 

Be 'trusted to your care : 
May you be ready to receive, 

And keep them bright and fair. 

Let old and young — let boys and girls, 

Like " Hannibal," come up 
And swear eternal hate to him — 

The FOE that 's in the cup. 

Ye blushing Fair lend us your aid — 

Your's is a potent charm — 
You rule the men who rule the State: — 

You can avert the harm. 

! never let it be forgot, 

The price that freedom cost; 
But pledge with us your lives, your all. 

It never shall be lost. 

wield the power which Nature gives, 
To dry these founts of woe — 

The sorrows of " a drunkard's wife," 
may you never know. 

Then roll it on !— '' that Temperance Ball," 

And keep it on the roll 
Till doggeries, those sinks of woe. 

Are crushed from pole to pole. 



ODES. 157 



NATIONAL HY^IN FOR THE FOURTH OF JULY. 

AIR — AVLD LANG SYNE. 

Hail, hail ! all hail " the glorious Fourth," 

That gave " a nation birth ;" 
The brightest civil diadem, 

The richest boon of earth. 

And never let this natal day- 
Be lost, or turned aside, 

To keep it up " the good old way " — (drunkeness ex- 
cepted,) 
Be every freeman's pride. 

And never let them be forgot, 

The sires from whom we came, 
Whose " blood-stained footsteps " marked their way 

To glory and to fame, v 

And never let them be unsung, 

Who firm in " glorious strife," 
To plant " the tree of liberty," 

Poured out the crimson life. 

No, never let it be forgot, 

The price that freedom cost; 
But "pledge" to each our lives, our all, 

It never shall be lost. 

Let us preserve inviolate 

" The legacy in trust," 
And hand it down all bright and fair, 

To those who follow us. 



158 COTTON'S KEEPSAKE. 

The east, the west, the north, the south I 

We hail as brethren dear; 
But claim the right, as freemen should, 

To speak out plain and clear. 

Should e'er our country beat " to arms," 
We'll seize our muskets bright, 

And like brave Warren, we will seek 
"The hottest of the fight." 

And though we sometimes disagree, 

No one has cause to fear; 
The institutions of our land, 

Alike we all hold dear. 

This is the land that gave us birth ! 

Here we shall live and die; 
And if one-half are deadly foes, 

Will some friend tell me why? 

0, then away with bitter words. 

We all in heart are one, 
United by the dearest ties, 

The stranger, sire and son. 

Then hail! all hail "the glorious Fourth," 

That gave a nation birth. 
The brightest civil diadem, 

The richest boon of earth. 



ODES. 159 



FOR WASHINGTON'S BTRTH-DAY TEMPERANCE 
CELEBRATION. 

AIR, AULD LANG SYNE. 

Come, tune your hearts, my countrymen, 

To celebrate the day, 
The birth-day of our Washington, 

With an exulting lay. 

In seventeen hundred thirty-two 
Great W^ashington was born — • 

A century and fourteen years, 
This joyous, happy morn. 

George Washington, a name most dear 

To all the tribes of men, 
The muse's theme of every clime — 

The theme of every pen. 

Theme of the old, and of the young, 

The lovely and the fair, 
At home, abroad, on seas and isles. 

Aye, truly everywhere. 

Our orator, in melting strains,* 

Has told us how and why 
We took up arms to vindicate 

Those riglits we prized so high. 

And how, in mercy, God raised up 

Our glorious Washington — 
The wisest, purest patriot 

Beneath the shining sun. 

* Lawyer Haynes . 



160 cotton's keepsake. 

He led our feeble armies on, 

And taught them how to fight — 

And under God, secured our peace 
And put our foes to flight. 

Go back with me to Lexington ! 

Go back to Bunker's hill ! 
Where gurgling gushed your country's blood, 

In many a crimson rill! 

! go with me to Brandywine ! 

Go back to Trenton, too ! 
Go ! read the tokens of God's care 

In all your country through. 

The gushing blood, all warm and free, 
Goes rushing through my veins, 

As I remember Washington 

And Yorktown's smiling plains. 

There perched our Eagle — bird of heaven, 

On liberty's fair tree — 
And there the " British Lion" roared, 

"America is free!" 

And in that " roar " was treasured all 

That's truly good and great — 
The right to worship God in peace 

And rule the new-born state. 

may we ever worthy prove 

And keep unsoiled our trust— 
And may our children cherish them 

When we repose in dust. 



ODES. 161 

May bitter strifes and bitter words 

No more offend our ears, — • 
We all are lionest brethren 

Of the same hopes and fears. 

This is the land that gave us birth, 

Here we shall live and die, 
And if one-half are deadly foes — • 

Kind sirs, please tell me why? 

A deadly foe, 'tis true, we have, 

That lures to crime and woe, 
'Tis from the sparkling, poisoned cup 

Most of our evils flow. 

It ruins mind! (0 what a thought!) 

The nation's sure defense — 
The doggeries — those sinks of sin — 

drive you out from hence. 

And teach the young to love good books, 

To love "God's house," and day. 
And let their feet be early taught 

To tread the narrow way. 

Then God, and Peace, and Washington, 

Shall unborn millions know, — 
And the rich blessings we enjoy, 

To all the nations flow. 

Then tune your hearts, my countrymen. 

Let us exulting sing. 

The hallowed name of Washington, 

Who conquered George the king. 
14 



162 cotton's keepsake. 

general jackson's birth-day celebration. 

AIR AULD LANG SYNE. 

The fii'st birth-day after his death was on the Sabbath. I 
■was requested to preach a sermon on that day suited to the 
occasion. My Text was, "Whom, having not seen, ye love." 
I also composed an Ode for the occasion. I loved Gen. Jackson 
as I loved few men on earth. Peace to his quiet dust, and 
immortality to his memory. Here it is : 

Hushed be "the music of tlie spheres," 

Let freemen's grateful lay, 
In one loud chorus fill the earth, 

On this auspicious day. 

Throughout the land, let old and young, 

The lovely and the "fair," 
To pay a tribute to true worth, 

Their grateful hearts prepare. 

My countrymen, with hearts all warm. 

We meet to celebrate 
The birth-day of our Jackson, dear — 

Jackson the good and great. 

In seventeen hundred sixty-seven, 
"Andrew the Great" was born. 

Just seventy-nine "eventful years," 
This precious Sabbath morn. 

Long did he live to bless our land, 

And vindicate her rights. 
Now gone — to his reward in heaven, 

To reap untold delights. 



ODES. 163 

When "savage war," and dread alarm 

Were heard all o'er the land, 
To quell those foes far in the South, 

Who led our "martial band?" 

Who met "the red man " face to face, 

His country to defend? 
Go ask " the Tribes " with whom he fought 

Along "the Horse-shoe bend." 

Tallapoosa will tell of gore, 

And Tallahasse, too — 
'Twas at Sawauna peace returned 

Through Jackson unto you. 

" The red men " and " the red coats," too 

Found Jackson "full of fight," 
He always left them in their gore, 

Or "on the wings of flight." 

Brave Jackson met proud Packenham, 

And all his vaunting host, 
The "BEAUTY and the booty" saved. 

And drove them from our coast. 

Valor and wisdom ever marked 

Each move in his "war scenes." 
The proudest victory ever won 

Was that of New Orleans. 

Behold him in "the forum" fair. 

Guiding the "Ship of State," 
Where "all the nations" own his skill, 

And all pronounce him great. 



164 cotton's keepsake. 

All his desires he lived to see 
Accomplished to his mind, 

His dear loved country and himself 
He then to God resigned. 

In peaceful slumbers, soft and sweet, 
Beside his faithful wife, 

He rests in hope till both again 
Awake to endless life. 

The conqueror of the conquerors, 

A greater victory won, 
When he subdued frail human self 

Through God's beloved Son. 

The glory of his "martial tread," 
The "civic wreath" of fame, 

Is vanity and dross compared 
To his BRIGHT Christian name. 



The scroll of fame shall long record 
The greatness of that name — 

Firmness and truth, and "honor brigKi_ 
And Jackson are the same. 



A name to freemen ever dear, 

To tyrants death and gall — 
Give us such men to guide the State — 

Be this the prayer of all. 

Farewell, great Jackson, words can't tell 
How DEARLY LOVED thou art ; 

O may the firmness of thy mind 
Inspire each freeman's heart. 



ODES. 

Then lius"h "tlie music of the spheres," 
Let freemen's grateful lay 

[n one loud chorus fill the earth, 
On this auspicious day. 



165 



TO THE INDIANA VOLUNTEERS. 

AIR AITLD LAXG SYNE. 

«'The Indiana Volunteers," 
The bravest of the brave, 

Thrice welcome from the gory fields 
Ye rushed into to save. 

You left your homes, your wives, your babes- 
Kindred and friends most dear; 

The parting scene called forth a sigh, 
And many a gushing tear. 

One lingering, longing look ye cast, 

To the receding shore. 
As onward ye were borne away, 

P'rhaps to return no more. 
For lo! "the cloud and storm of war," 

Hung o'er " the far Southwest," 
To meet those fearful shafts of death. 

Each bared his patriot breast. 

The thrilling words of brave command, 

" Make ready, aim, and fire ! " 
As promptly was obeyed as given, 

By comrade, son, and sire. 



166 cotton's keepsake. 

And all alono; the line of war. 



Ye proved yourself to be — 
Both officers and privates, ALL,* 
True friends of liberty. 

There 's General Lane, our Marion, 

Who won immortal fame, 
And Colonel Gorman, brave and true, 

As well deserves the same. 
And Colonel Lane, so cool and firm, 

At Buena Vista's scene, 
Won laurels for himself and State, 

That flourish evergreen. 

Colonel Dumont, second to none, 

At Huamantla's hight, 
Performed his part most gallantly. 

And kept his honor bright. 
Our Colonels and our Captains too, 

A brilliant fame have won ; 
McCarty I can only name, 

And Mason, Gibbs, and Dunn. 

To ALL I say, the harmony 

That did pervade your ranks, 
Has won for you " the mede of praise," 

And won our warmest thanks. 
A scene or two I will here note, 

As samples of the rest; 
Of your fidelity and skill. 

They prove an ample test. 

Col Bowles excepted, and he more in error than in fault. 



ODES. 167 

" Reserve your fire, my gallant boys, 

Until the foe is niorli,"^ 
Then teach the hosts of Mexico 

A lesson from your eye. 
True to your country's bleeding cause, 

Ye marshaled all your powers, 
Unerring, deadly aim ye took, 

And then "the day was ours." 

And when ye were in close pursuit 

Of General Santa Ann', 
So eager were ye for the prize, 

"A host proved every man." 
*'We go to meet our country's foes, 

I glory in this day; 
Act well your part, my trusty band, 

When I retreat, you may."-j- 

The LADIES, (bless 'em,) true as steel, 

Wrought with their own fair hands 
The Flags that proudly o'er you waved. 

In those dark bloody lands. 
Most gallantly did you defend 

"Our Eagle, Stripes and Stars;" 
Ye 're all with glory covered o'er, 

And some with "glorious scars." 

But oh ! some of your patriot band 

Fell on the bloody field; 
True as the needle to the pole. 

They 'd neither fly nor yield; 



* Col. Lane's order at Buena Vista. 
t Col. Dumont's address at HuamajQtla. 



168 cotton's keepsake. 



And some tliere were wlio lingering fell 

By torturing, slow disease ; 
Their manly forms far off repose, 

Beneath the murmurins: trees. 



Our tears bespeak our heartfelt grief, 

Yet we rejoice to hear 
They fell contending for those rights 

Which freemen hold so dear. 
The peace, for which ye staked your all, 

Ye valiantly have won, 
And all, with you, rejoice to know 

The bloody strife is done. 

Adieu, adieu, a long farewell, 

To the din of clashing arms, 
And may you long enjoy the bliss 

Of home's pure, holy charms. 
Then welcome to the " hoosier b'hoys," 

The bravest of the brave, 
Thrice welcome from the gory fields 

Ye rushed into to save. 



TO THE LADIES' WEEKLY TRIBUNE. 

The Tribune's a weekly, bewitchingly fair, 
Gotten up with great taste to sweeten dull care ; 
To aid the fair Miss in the choice of her friends, 
'T is indeed well invested, all the money she spends 
For the Ladies' Weekly Tribune. 



ODES. 169 

And young gentlemen, too, will here find a guide, 
To direct in the choice of "a sweet blushing Vjride;" 
Here virtue shall flourish and be fostered the while, 
And corruption rebuked in the choicest of style, 

In the Ladies' Weekly Tribune. 

The " Temperance Reform " will here find a friend. 
Where Truth, Virtue and Wisdom in harmony blend. 
Both diction and subject exhibit great taste, 
So send on your cash, with all possible haste. 

For the Ladies' Weekly Tribune. 

Mrs. Underhill's fair fame is a sure guarantee, 
That each coming number still fiiirer shall be ; 
And Amanda M. Way is unrivaled, you know — 
And the wisdom of both they united bestow 

On the Ladies' Weekly Tribune. 

Their chaste, thrilling tales, sound morals impart, 
They enlighten the head, and make better the heart; 
They beguile the lone hours, they teach us to feel 
For the woes of mankind — and to pray for the weal 
Of the Ladies' Weekly Tribune. 

Here temperance and virtue shall flourish and shine, 
Their all-conquering power be felt in each line, 
And just such a journal has long been required, 
And ne'er was a work more justly admired. 

Than the Ladies' Weekly Tribune. 

The great Temperance Ball with our rollers we'll roll, 
And push on the conquest from pole unto pole ; 
May the tears of affliction all dry in its track, 
And the voice of rejoicing come echoing back. 

Through the Ladies' Weekly Tribune. 

DisTiLLi^RTES and grogshops we'll handle right rough, 
And never will quit until all cry " enough," 
15 



170 cotton's keepsake. 

"We hate the employment, yet love all the men, — (perhaps.) 
And to save and reclaim them v^^e'll do all that we can 
Through the Ladies' Weekly Tribune. 

"We'll argue, entreat, and toil to persuade, 
The high and the low, of whatever grade, 
To abandon the traffic, to break every bowl, 
Containing the poison that ruins the soul, 

Through the Ladies' Weekly Tribune. 

Ye loathsome inebriates, ye poor tipplers, too, 
" A message of love" shall ours be to you ; 
We '11 help you to turn to the paths that are right, 
Thus cheering your homes with untold delight, 

Through the Ladies' Weekly Tribune. 

Each number preserve with neatness and care, 
'T will make a rich volume at the close of the year ; 
And in all after time thy library 'twill grace, 
Though numerous thy works — be sure to give place 

To the Ladies' Weekly Tribune. 

The " Editorial Department " is transcendently fair, 
May it well be sustained, is my heart's ivarmest prayer; 
And each son and daughter of Hoosierdom say, 
I enjoy the rich boon — in fine — a bright day 

To the Ladies' Weekly Tribune. 

Manchestee Baed. 
Manchester, Sept. 15, 1857. 



ODES. 171 



TO THE NATIONAL, THE GRAND, AND THE SUB- 
ORDINATE UNIONS OF THE DAUGHTERS OF 
TEMPERANCE, IN NORTH AMERICA. 

My humble muse, awake, attune thy unstrung lyre, 
One of thy choicest strains, in glowing words of fire ; 
And be thy theme without ofi"ense, 
The daughters fair of Temperance. 

Ye are a lovely band, joined to redeem our land 
From drunkeness and woe, that so profusely flow 
From all "rum holes" — let's move them hence, 
Ye daughters fair of Temperance. 

You wield a mighty power, exert it every hour, 
""Till every drunken son is saved, redeemed and won 
From error's paths, — your work 's immense, 
Ye daughters fair of Temperance. 

You must and will succeed, if all are well agreed, 
Firmly and fully bent, to spend and to be spent. 
Blessings untold you will dispense, 
Ye daughters fair of Temperance. 

Take courage then, ye fair, by "works of love" and 

prayer. 
Press onward to the end, the good will you befriend, 
While health, peace, joy, you thus dispense, 
Ye daughters fair of Temperance. 

Oh ! may your " Union bands," devise the means and 

plans. 
Preserved and handed down, to bless each state and 

town ; 
And far and wide may you dispense 
The pledge and joys of Temperance. 



172 cotton's keepsake. 

May you abound in peace, prosper, and much increase 
In number and in strength, until the breadth and length 
Of our proud land, (a sure defense,) 
Shall be far-famed for Temperance, 

In after coming years, with gratitude, and tears 

Of joy, shall you be blest, while in your graves you rest 

From all your toils. Thrice blessed hence, 

Be the daughters fair of Temperance. 

This tribute of my muse, I trust you'll not refuse; 
'Tis no "vain compliment,'' I thus to you present: 
Please to accept without offense, 
Ye daughters fair of Temperance. 



TO INDUSTRY, 

Sung at tlie First Annual Fair of the Dearhorn County 
Agricultural Societg, 1851. 

f APOTHEGM. 

"Ciirsod is the ground for thy sake." — Gen iil: 16. 

Cursed be the ground, in mercy cursed, 

For fallen, sinful man; 
And who that rightly understands, 

Does not approve God's plan? 

This is a life of active toil — 

Hereafter we shall rest, 
And he who is most faithful here, 

Shall there enjoy it best. 



ODES. 173 

The cultivation of the earth, 

Through toil, and sweat, and sighs, 

Is heaven's choicest, richest boon — 
All blessinsrs in diso-uise. 



The thorns and thistles that we dread, 
Which choke the growing grain. 

Give exercise to willing hands, 
And health and j^eace maintain. 



The idle and the dissolute 

Most sure to ruin run ; 
Who proves a burden to himself 

Oft as the rich man's son? 

The toiling millions of our globe 
Enjoy night's sweet repose; 

All strangers unto wakefulness, 
And idle people's woes. 

Then push along the mighty plow — 

Cheer up — go, Charlie, go; 
And men and boys, in merry mood. 

Keep moving with the hoe. 

And shove, and shove the plane along, 

Ye artists of the land; 
'Tis by your skill and industry 

We evermore must stand. 

The smith beside his glowing forge. 

His anvil, and his vise. 
With brawny hands, and manly brows, 

Will serve you in a trice. 



174 cotton's keepsake. 

The politician, wide awake, 

Will smile, and scrape, and bow. 

And pledge you much some other time 
To get your vote just now. 

The student, at his musty books, 

With scientific fires, 
Propels the car along the track, 

And thoughts along the wires. 

The soldier, at the cannon's mouth, 
Death staring in his face, 

'Mid clashing steel, defends his land 
From ruin and disgrace. 

The sailor plows proud ocean's foam — 

No timid heart has he; 
To gather wealth, he boldly braves 

The perils of the sea. 

The doctor mounts his trusty nag, 
And on, through sleet and snow, 

He hastens to the sick one's couch, 
To soothe the wail of woe. 

The lawyer and the "ermined judge," 
Well versed in "legal lore," 

By mental toil, are known abroad. 
And famed from shore to shore. 



The minister, divinely sent 

With messages of love, 
Points to the house "not made with hands," 

Eternal and above. 



ODES. 175 

Tlie music of the spinning-wheel, 

The shuttle, and the loom, 
Will sweeten all the ills of life, 

And chase away their gloom. 

The kitchen, and the parlor, too, 

Ye lovely and ye /air. 
Becomes you all, and will reward 

Your presence and your care. 

All, all on earth should active be — 

The sun, and moon, and stars 
Keep whirling through the void immense — 

Earth, Jupiter, and Mars. 

Then push along the mighty plow — 

Cheer up — go, Charlie, go; 
And men and boys, in merry mood, 

Keep moving with the hoe. 



TO THE DEARBORN COUNTY AGRICULTURAL 
FAIR. 

The Dearborn County Fair shall usher in my song; 
Please lend me your attention, it will not take you long: 
So, my humble muse, "tune up,^' and awake! 
In truth and in rhyme a synopsis now take 

Of the Dearborn County Fair. 

There were horses and mares, and jennets and jacks — 
Roans, dapple-grays and sorrels, creams, chestnuts and 
blacks ; 



176 cotton's keepsake. 

All sorts and all sizes, sleeked off for a show, 
Some were most beautiful, and others so-so, 

At the Dearborn County Fair. 

There were cattle and cows, calves, sheep and fat hogs, 
Polar chickens, and pigs, and lots of fine dogs ; 
There were farming utensils, a grain-sower and plow, 
And threshing machines that did it up — how? 
At the Dearborn County Fair. 

There was grass seed and wheat, and potatoes and corn, 
Fine apples and onions as ever were born ; 
There was cabbage and beets, and radishes, too, 
Sweet potatoes and turnips, all pleasant to view. 
At the Dearborn County Fair. 

There was — let me see — but I will not tell all. 
Lest I weary your patience, and my poem forestall, 
But butter ! 0, bless me ! as yellow as gold. 
And as sweet as pure honey, admired, but not sold. 
At the Dearborn County Fair. 

And the finest of bread, too,* to match the fine butter. 
You would chew it with pleasure, and for more you would 

mutter; 
There were stockings and shoes, f and carpets and quilts. 
Counterpanes and blankets, the work of no jilts. 
At the Dearborn County Fair. 

The patterns were all fine, and the needlework, too, 
Such as ouvfair ladies know just how to do : 
Chr3rsanthemums, dahlias, and roses in bloom, 
And geraniums, too, all rich in perfume. 

At the Dearborn County Fair. 

There were saddles, and bridles, and harness, and whips. 
And I venture to say that not one of them rips ; 

- Mrs. Dr. McCiillougli. 

f As noticed in the Seniinel, and accredited to Mrs. "WiEDtESTAOT— beautiful. 



ODES. 177 

They were tasty and neat, and made a fine show; 
They must have been extra to be talked about so, 
At the Dearborn County Fair. 

And buggies — there ! there ! there ! if you ever wish to ride 
Easil}^ gracefully, and with conscious pride, 
Just purchase a carriage of Heifer & Co. — 
Encourage true merit, and thus add to the show 
Of our next County Fair. 

But the ladies — oh, bless ^em ! — so lovely and fair, 
All neat as a pink, were the fairest things there, 
Their presence and smiles send joy to the heart; 
May they live and be there, and each take a part 
In our next County Fair. 

Such a show once a year must end in much good. 
Henceforth we shall farm it much more as we should; 
Emulation and pride will the masses inspire ; 
Next year we will "come it,'' infusing new fire, 
At the Dearborn County Fair. 

Two full acres in one, and far better than that. 
If we keep the farms neat, and keep the land fat, 
And horticulture, too, neglected too long, 
Shall inspire my lay, and continue my song 

Of the Dearborn County Fair. 

May neatness and flowers, instead of rank weeds, 
The garden adorn, — then — then rich its proceeds : 
Men, women and children, "fly about," and prepare, 
And next year without fail be sure to be there — 
At the Dearborn County Fair. 

Everything that we make, or eat, drink or wear. 
Will be greatly improved by our next County Fair, 
Then hand in your names, and " fork over ^'^our cash,^' 
And there will be neither poor stock nor poor trash 
At our next County Fair. 



178 cotton's keepsake. 



TO "A FARMER'S FOREST LIFE," 

A Poetic Address^ pronounced at the Dearborn County AgricuU 
iural Fair, 1857. 



"A Farmer's Forest Life," I own has many charms for me, 
Give ear my friends awhile, and the wherefores you shall see. 
He first selects " a tract of land '' 'raid birds and blossoms fair, 
Then settles in his anxious mind, his home shall now be there. 

Erects a neat "log cabin," out in the open woods. 

Has neither stock nor cash, perhaps, nor much of '• household 

goods," 
But hope of " better days " gives strength unto his arm, 
And at it now he goes, to " clear him up a fai-m." [a) 

His viands coarse and common, and scanty too at that, 
But instead of getting poor, he is rather growing fatj 
Toil gives it a " a good relish," and sweetens his repose, 
" For change and recreation " to the forest now he goes. 

With his rifle on his shoulder, and with Jowlcr at his side, 
The place between him and his home is soon made very wide; 
He scours both " hill and dale " for turkeys, bear, and deer — 
Returns at night quite weary, with " lots of merry cheer "— 
{soraetimes). 

"His wife and little ones," all smiling and all fair, 
Now hasten out to meet him, and " soothe his brow of care ;" 
His tea, perhaps of sassafras, of spicebush, or of sage. 
Has long been waiting, but goes first rate, I '11 venture to en- 
gage. 

And then he has fine "nuts to crack" at eve or in foul weather, 

His overalls were sometimes made of yellow tanned buck- 
skin leather. 

His neighbors are most kind and true, each feels himself a 
brother, 

For lack of schools his children are all taught at home by 
mother. 



ODES. 179 

He has " a little patch for truck," though rather rough at first, 

But he can not do without it, and have it he will and must; 

In time it makes " a pretty garden," full of sweet shrubs and 
flowers, 

Where he, "his wife and children," spend many happy hours — ■ 
[or should do]. 

As time rolls on, his fertile fields, and "flocks and herds in- 
crease," 

His " cribs and stables " well supplied, his yards with poultry, 
pigs and geese. 

And as occasion may require, he "11 slay and cook and eat : 

For pure " domestic happiness," his life is hard to beat. 

'T is true we had our troubles then^ and you all have them now^ 
So happiness at last depends upon the mindj I trow, 
We were quite happy in those days, in hope of " better times," 
And made "a shift to get along," and live without "the dimes," 

For thirty-seven and a half cents, we 'd toil all day in Summer 
And keep as busy too, at that, as any "little drummer;'' 
We 'd sell our corn at sixteen cents, not always sure of that, 
And pork " one dollar twenty-five " that was all " rolling fat." 

With tow and linen pantaloons, and hats of " chip and straw," 

We lived upon equality, and seldom went to law. 

Our corn we ground on " hand mills," to make our " bread and 

mush," 
And often went abroad all barefoot, ! hush ! hush ! ! hush ! ! ! 

Our wives, our sons and daughters, could fare but little better, 
'T is ti'ue what I am saying, friends, " true to the very letter." 
For fifty cents per week, was all " our gals " could git, 
And thought a chance like that, " a very happy hit." 

Six cents per pound for butter, and eggs three cents per dozen, 
The highest price to be obtained from merchant, friend or 

cousin. 
In striped linen or linsey dress, they 'd " cut a merry dash," 
Which they had spun, and wove, and made " " without one dime 

in cash." 



180 cotton's keepsake. 

Our elections then had nought to clo with questions about 

We took right hold " the better man," and rushed him in most 

hearty ; 
But still 'tis true, and must be told, alas ! too well we know it, 
A man must treat at every turn, or else he could not " go it." (6) 

Our teachers took their pay in corn, and pork, and beef, 
A little linsey now and then, would give them great relief ; 
They 'd " board around " from place to place, nor murmured at 

the fare. 
Would bow at your devotions, and often lead in prayer. 

The preachers, bless 'em one and all, (c) they went both far and 

near, 
To warn the sinner of his ways, — the saints to feast and cheer. 
They'd "go through thick and thin," through mud and sleet 

and snow, 
"You'd always find them at their post," if you yourself would 

go. 
A Lawrence, Durbin, Jones, McE,eynolds, CoUard, Hitt, 
Collins, Daniels, Thompson, Randall, we never can fovgit; 
Robinson, Miller, Beeks, Rawson, Murry, Sparks, and Hayes, 
All zealous men for God, and worthy of all praise. 

Oglesby, Bonner, Lewis, Gillett, Ruter, Brouse, Arrington, and 

Fraley, 
Whom you would delight to hear monthly, weekly, daily ; 
A Hargrave, Hicks, and Goodwin, McLain, Turner, and McCaw, 
All eloquent for the truth, and mighty iij the law. 

Of Griffiths, Smiths, and Havens, there were some two or three, 
Men you would always like to hear, and always like to see; 
A Lambdin, Baker, Heath, and Wyley, and " good old Father 

Jones," 
More deeply graven on the heart, than "chiseled" in the stones. 

I fain would linger 'mid these sweets and tell the pleasing 

story. 
How they o'er came, through Jesus' name, and dwell with him 

in glory ; 



ODES. 181 

In fine a Eoss, Beliarvall, a Holliday, and a "Wood, 

Is all that I can mention here, but would more if I could. 

They wrought a mighty work here, in the mighty West, — [d) 
But many have gone to their reward and entered into rest; 
Their names enrolled on high, shall never, never perish, 
A Lawrence, Lambdin, Kapei', Strang, how fondly we all cherish. 

I've thought it due to all, this much right here to say, 

They labored long and faithfully, and got but little pay ; 

Lived not for self alone, but for the future good 

Of saint and sinner, one and all, just as all men ever should. 

I have digressed thus far to paint " a forest life," 
And now return again to the farmer and his wife ; 
To dwell on their privations many long years ago, — 
Listen, my dear young friends, if you really wish to know. 

Their church was some kind neighbor's cabin, upon the ridge 

or creek, 
"With chimneys built with "cats and mud," for then we had no 

brick ; 
"With flooi-s of puncheon under foot, and clapboards overhead, 
And "lights for windows" paper oiled, — I've witnessed what 

I 've said. 

All clad in coarse, plain homespun, and " neater than a pink," 
He takes his family to chui-ch, to worship God, and think 
About their future home in climes more bright and fair, 
Then consecrates himself anew to God, by faith and humble 
prayer. 

Begins the week refreshed in body, mind, and skill, 
Assured that God is with him now, he sinks into his will; 
His wife and babes to him are all surpassing fair. 
Delighted with his humble home, he is most happy there. 

And oft with one child in his arms, another on his back, 
He "cuts across" the forest wide, along his "blazed out 
track; "(e) 



182 cotton's keepsake. 

To spend a happy evening wiMi some kind forest friends, 
Then with a " lighted torch," his liomeward way he wends. 

Upon his safe arrival there he " strikes him up a fire," 
How happy we shall be my dear, when we have neighbors nigher 
Talks o'er his pleasant visit, then bows himself in prayer, 
And soon in peaceful slumbers, forgets both toil and care. 

The bear, the wolf, the panther, quite oft beset his track, 
And the very first he knows they 're well nigh on his back; 
But God preserves him strangely, his wife and '•'■hub and sw," 
I 've witnessed in my time dear friends, such thrilling scenes as 
this.(/) 

Still to our farm we 'd warmly cling, and grub, and hoe, and 

plow, 
Perhaps we all were happier then than any of us noio ; 
We had fine peaches, " rich as cream," to sell, to eat, and dry, — 
To the memory of those days I pay " the tribute of a sigh." 

Still these are better times by far, and happier we should be ; 
Such great improvements in my time, I never thought to see ; 
We used to deal alone on time^ and paid up in produce. 
To ask the cash no one presumed, unless to " play the duce." 

Now "ready cash" is "all the go," for labor, goods or wares, 

And lo ! my friends, we have fine agricultural fairs; 

What mighty changes for the better, these forty yeai-s have 

wrought. 
To you young friends " a rich bequest," to us all dearly bought. 

Young ladies and young gentlemen, you " scarce begin to 

know," 
The dangers, toils, and hardships we had to undergo, 
In clearing up this country, that's now so bright and fair, 
Which you from us inherit without a seeming care. 

Our roads were rough and muddy too, our mills so far away, 
It took us one full day to go, and sometimes two to stay; 



ODES. 183 

Your roads are fine, and iurnpiked, too, your mills are just in 

sight. 
Where you can go and get your grist, and back before 'tis 

night. 

You have your " railroads and canals," your telegraphic wires, 
Fine churches, too, to " worship God," with carpets, bells and 

spires ; 
You have fine houses and fine farms, barouches, chaise, and 

gigs, 
And dress in silks and broadcloth, and feast on dainties and 

"roast pigs." 

Cleave to these farms young gentlemen, improve and keep them 

nice, 
They 11 yield you health and plenty, and keep you out of vice; 
The rush for " learned professions," is rushing into strife, 
And oft is purchased at the price of happiness for life. 

" The brawling politician," lives in a constant muss. 

To keep up fair appearances, must keep an endless fuss ; 

His life is restless as can be, nor dare he once deny it, — 

If any of you doubt it friends, just sell your farms and try It. 

The lawyer too, has strife on strife, the doctor has great care, 
Be his success whate'er it may, or practice any where; 
Both are essential callings though, and oft they "make it pay," 
But would you once exchange with them, say, farmers say ? 

You are thrice happy as you plant, and happy as you sow. 
Or as you follow the " good old plow," or cradle, reap or mow ; 
Richer by far than mighty kings in palace, hall or dome. 
As you chant your " merry anthem," your own sweet " harvest 
home." 

Huzza! then, huzza, boys! for the "farmer and mechanic," 
They both are independent men, and no bank money panic 
Can e'er disturb their sweet repose, or tarnish their good name. 
They're loved and honored in their lives, and in their death 
the same. 



184 cotton's keepsake. 

Ah! -where are those "hardy pioneers," who early settled here ? 
Most of them gone, and very soon the last will disappear; 
I too am frail, and getting old, and soon must pass away, 
Well, " be it so,^' I am content, since I have seen this day. 

Forty long years have well nigh fled, and years of change and 

toil, 
Since I first settled in your midst, and purchased of your soil; 
'T was then a " howling wilderness," with scarce one stick amiss, 
Nor did I then begin to dream of seeing a day like this. 

Judging the future by the past, what bliss laid up in store. 

For all the young who shall behold forty long years of improve- 
ment more ; 

Keep up your fairs from year to year, let each his "mite cast 
in," 

lu something — poultry, stock, produce, needlework, whether he 
lose or win. 

I leave the country much improved in " science and in art," 
And trust I 've been no •' hanger on," but have acted well my 

part, 
May smiling " peace and plenty" for ever bless this land, 
For " truth and right," dear friends, for ever firmly stand. 

And now " a kind and parting word " to the little girls and 

boys, 
" Seek God in early youth " for pure substantial joys ; 
Young men and women soon you '11 be, and fill our vacQ^nt 

places, 
I trust with pure and honest hearts, and smiling happy faces. 

And serve your day and age, as we have done before, 
You have my warmest blessings, dears, and I can say no more ; 
May heaven's kind protecting arms for ever round you dwell, 
And now dear friends both old and young, receive my kind 

FAREWELL. 



ODES. 185 



EEFEBENCES. 

[a] That is precisely the w.ay I commenced in the world, 
and indeed the whole "poem" is my own true history — a part 
of my Autobiography. 

[6] My venerable friend Judge Isaac Dunn, has kindly 
furnished me Avith a slip from the Oracle, published at Law- 
renceburg, in 1823, which I regard as a treat, because it goes 
back so far into the eventful past, and because it so fully 
endorses what I have said upon the subject. 

LINES, 

On viexoing the Election Polls, August 3d, 1823. 

What's this! I now with gi'ief behold? 
Our "office-hunters" grownquite bold, 
To "law and oider" bid defiance, 
To purchase votes is their reliance. 
They are not bought as I 've been told, 
From voters with " a purse of gold ;" 
Nor even for " a mess of pottage " — they 
Do "sell their birthright" as they say. 
Nor for good wholesome beef or hams. 
But for those deadly whisky drams, — etc. 

OLD MAX OF THE MOUNTAIN. 

[c] Special reference is here made to the circuit preachers 
and presiding elders, whose fields of labor included Manchester. 
The local preachers and ministers of other denominations have 
also done a great and good work in the vineyard of the Lord, 
and will be noticed especially, in the historical part of the work, 
which see. 

[d] Among all the pretty amusing things written by Hon. 
0..H. Smith, in his "early Indiana trials," a more just and 
beautiful tribute is not to be found than the following, which 
endorses me fully — and here it is for you. 

"I should be false to the history of early Indiana were I to 
pass by in silence the itinerant Methodist preachers who con- 
IG 



186 cotton's keepsake. 

tributed so much to the establishment of good order, quiet, in- 
telligence, morality and religion among the first settlers ; and 
without intending to give oiFense to others, I venture the re- 
mai'k, that early Indiana, nay more, Indiana to-day, owes more 
to the itinerant Methodist preachers than to all other religious 
denominations combined. Their system carried their churches 
into every settlement, and where two or three were gathered 
together, there was a Methodist preacher or exhorter in the 
midst. They were at the bedside of the dying man on their 
knees, or at the grave their voices were heard in songs of 
praise. Other denominations waited for the people to come 
up from the wilderness to worship, while the itinerant Metho- 
dist preacher mounted his horse, and sought out their cabins 
in the woods, held his meetings there, carrying the Gospel, 
and leaving the Bible and Hymn-Book as he went." 

[e] "A blazed out track," is a line of trees spotted on each 
Bide, and in sight of each other from one place to another 
through the woods. 

[/] See biography. — A night with a panther. 



TO PROGRESS. 



Sung at the Third Dearborn County Agricultural Fair, 
September 2lst, 1854. 

APOTHEGM — "up AND AT IT." — AIR, "aULD LANG SYNE." 

What great improvements mark tlie age 

In which we chance to live; 
0, who would then an idler be, 

And not this tribute give? 



ODES. 187 

Then up and at it, one and all, 

Nor lose a single minute; 
You all may make the world the better 

For having just been in it. 

How things have changed and been improved 

Within a few brief years; 
It swells the heart with gratitude, 

And calls forth hearty cheers. 

When we were little boys and girls, 

Some forty years ago, 
We used our tinder, flint, and steel — 

'T was click, and puff, and blow. 

But now we take a bit of pine. 

And split it fine and thin; 
Into a "chemical compound," 

The ends we just dip in : 

A little friction then will raise 

A blazing torch of fire; 
Perhaps we hardly need expect 

To carry that much higher. 

We used to rake our hay by hand — 

Our plows were made of wood; 
Now they are made of polished steel, 

And horses rake so good. 

Horses and oxen used to draw 

Our merchandise and goods, 
O'er mountains, hills, and valleys, too. 

Through slushes and the woods. 



188 cotton's keepsake. 

But now our famed old iron-horse 
Comes snorting on the track, 

Swift as the wind — us, goods, and all, 
He '11 take right there and back. 

To cross the ocean, years gone by, 
Consumed long weary months; 

But now our gallant steamships 
Will take you there at once. 

Expresses, too, we used to send 
On horseback, through the mires; 

But now they go, with lightning speed, 
On telegraphic wires. 

Improvements must and will go on — 
Though telegraphs are some. 

They '11 surely be behind the times 
In fifty years to come. 

The master spirit of the age, 

0, who, who shall it be? 
Let every youngster here respond, 

It may, it shall be me. 

Then up and at it, brave young men. 
Nor lose one single minute; 

You all may make the world the better 
For having once been in it. 

When Franklin sent his little kite 

And bottle to the cloud. 
And filled it full of lightning red, 



It was a conquest proud. 



ODES. 189 

But 0, how little did he dream 

That those electric fires 
Would e'er difi"use great truths abroad, 

On long-suspended wires. 

Developments in moral truth, 

In science, and in art, 
For ever lead to others, too — 

Of one great whole a part. 

Then up and at it, little boys, 

Nor lose one single minute; 
You, too, may make this world the better 

For having just been in it. 

And shall our proud, loved Hoosier State 

No active interest take 
In those improvements, which thus tend 

All things to better make? 

Well has old Dearborn done her part. 

As will at once appear; 
For all the hay-screws in the land 

Were set in motion here.^ 

Then there is Holden's Patent Dress f 

For grinding corn and wheat. 
Worth thousands upon thousands told. 

And monstrous hard to beat. 

Then here comes Plummer's Patent Drill,;]; 
For dropping corn so handy, 

* By .John Morrison, of Hardenburgh, in 1824. 
tBy Moore Holden, of New Lawrenceburg, in 1848, 
JPlummer and llollins, of Manchester. 



190 cotton's keepsake. 

And those who use it, I believe, 
Pronounce it ''just the dandy." 

And shall improvements not be made 

In managing the farm — 
In raising stock, and making cheese, 

And saving all from harm? 

A glorious and a happy day 

Has dawned upon the land; 
For agriculture and fine arts 

Now travel hand in hand. 

Keep up your State and County Fairs — 

Reward to merit give, 
And all will soon both feel and see 

We 've just begun to live. 

The ladies — bless 'em — with sweet smiles, 

Will cheer you in your toil, 
Nor shun the dairy, nor the loom, 

Though sure their hands to soil. 

In every land, in every clime, 

They cheer to noble deeds; 
What they approve, or smile upon. 

Just like a charm succeeds. 

Then onward, onward be your march, 

Nor falter in the way ; 
Improve your minds, your farms, your stock, 

And all will better pay. 

Then up and at it, one and all, 
Nor lose one single minute; 



ODES. 191 

You all should leave this world the better 
For having once been in it. 

Ye poets and ye muses fair, 

Awake your slumbering lyres; 
You can do much, full well you know, 

To fan and feed these fires. 

Poets are said to rule the land 

By their inspiring song; 
Then sing a lay at every fair — 

'Twill help the thing along. 

My humble tributes I have given, 

And now give place to you; 
Act well your parts, and you will find 

What I have sung is true. 

Then up and at it, poets all, 

Nor lose one single minute; 
You, too, should leave this world the better 

For bavins: once been in it. 



At a meeting of the board of directors of the Dearborn 
County Agricultural Society, the following resolution was 



Resolved, That the Rev. A. .J. Cotton be and he is hereby 
presented with an honorary membership in this society, for 
his "Poem to Progress," made and sung by him at the Third 
Agricultural Fair for Dearborn county, in 1854. 

J. W. Eggleston, President. 
Francis ■Worlet,^^ Secretary. 



ELEGIES. 



LINES, 



On the death of Mary, infant daughter of Wm. and Deborah 
Tuttle, Pownal, Maine, 1817. 



A SWEET and pretty little girl, 

Of age about two years, 
Was lately taken sick, 

Which caused its parents' tears. 
Poor mortals here, how exposed 
To sorrow, sickness, pain, and woes! 

The child could take no rest — 

how it was distressed! 

In vain it shed its tears — 
, In vain each tale it hears. 
Poor mortals here, how exposed 
To sorrow, sickness, pain, and woes! 

And then the doctor came 
To help the sickly frame; 
But said 'twas all in vain — 
The dropsy 's on the brain. 
Poor mortals here, how exposed 
To sorrow, sickness, pain, and woes! 

(192) 



ELEGIES. 193 

The child, of course, did die — 

No doubt it reigns on high; 

There Jesus is its friend, 

Where pain and sorrow end. 
In heaven do infants sing a song 
Which doth to them alone belong * 

The child, I do n't believe 

Its Saviour ever grieved; 

For then it was quite young — 

Not knowing what it done {did.') 
In heaven do infants sing a song 
Which doth to them alone belong. 

But you that fully know 

The good and bad you do, 

Will surely be condemned — 

! fly to Christ your friend. 
Your crimes confess, your sins forsake, 
Then you an heir of heaven he'll make. 

Then take up every cross — 

Count all things here but loss; 

Be it our constant care 

To live a life of prayer: 
And then on Canaan's blissful shore, 
We '11 meet our friends to part no more. 

Sweet Mary dear, farewell — 

Our anguish none can tell; 

With grief our hearts are riven. 

But when we meet in heaven. 
We '11 shout, our griefs and sorrows o'er, 
And dwell in peace for evermore. 

* Rev, xiv : 3. 
17 



194 cotton's keepsake. 



LINES, 

On the death of Captain Godfrey Snow, who was literally 
ground to atoms in the machinery of a steamboat, of which 
he had command, 1821. 



A SOLEMN sound doth now resound — we hear of sudden death — . 
Come listen now, I'll tell you how, and who, as my good muse 

saith ; 
One Godfrey Snow, whose name we know, whose character we 

view 
To be upright, both day and night — this much, at least, is true. 

His heart, I fear, as doth appear, was never changed by grace. 
Unless it was within the jaws of that rough iron place ; 
God's power is such, his sacred touch creates the soul anew — 
It may be so, for aught I know, that he that work did do. 

This fearful sight took place at night — to atoms he was ground 
By the rough deal of the balance-wheel — his head, howe'er, 

was found; 
'T was caused by this, if I do n't miss — his coat caught in the 

wheel — 
In sad surprise, for help he cries — how think you he must feel ? 

He cried in vain, nor could obtain a stay no longer here, 
But he must go from all below, and to his Judge appear; 
The wife he 'd left, and child bereft, he soon had hoped to see, 
But ah, alas ! was held and fast, forced to eternity. 

And now to you, his consort true, yon 're left awhile to mourn — 
Your husband 's gone to tarry long — no more will he return ; 
Your babe with you brings to your view its father's tender care — • 
May you and it in glory sit, is now my deep-felt prayer. 



ELEGIES. 195 



A MOURNFUL SONG, 

On the death of William Duncan's four children, who were con- 
sumed, with his house, by fire, on the evening of the 18th of 
March, 1822, aged eleven, nine, five and three years. One 
was an only sou, five years old. Never was an entire com- 
munity more generally excited to sympathy and tears thaa 
upon this occasion. These lines were published at the time 
in ballad form. 



To ME give ear, ye parents dear, and your kind children, too, 
While I express the deep distress which I will now pursue; 
But in what way, I sure must say, I am perplexed to know 
How to relate the solemn fate which I 'm about to show. 

May he who reigns in Eden's Plain direct my pen and heart, 
And give me light to do just right — from error to depart: 
Here I must say, the eighteenth day of March, in '22, 
A fearful sight took place at night — four children burnt in view 

Of those who saw, with grief and awe, their bodies in the 

flame, 
But 'twas too late — four out of eight all suffered the same; 
Their parents, ay, had gone away, a pleasant eve to spend, 
And little thought they should be brought to suffer in the end. 

It does appear their infant dear with them they took along — 
The seven left had gone to rest — 0, what a mournful song! 
For while they slept, the fire crept, and filled the house with 

smoke — 
Still there they rest, not one oppressed, till one at last awoke. 

Then all the rest she thus addressed, "0?/r house is hiirning wpP 
Her frantic cries unlocked their eyes — with horror they were 

struck ; 
Two eldest they together lay within the other room — . 
Delila bold ran and them told their almost certain doom. 



196 cotton's keepsake. 

The fire had spread all o'er their head, which frightened them 

the more — 
One only way escaped they — a window was the door; 
'T would make my song full quite too long to mention every 

thing— 
The other four are now no more — we trust in heaven they sing. 

'Bout 'leven at night, if I am right, these parents started home, 
When two young men approached them, and told them what 

was done ; 
What sad surprise must strike their eyes, and swell their aching 

hearts! 
They could but see from seven, three that had escaped unhurt. 

The morning mild upon them smiled, but still they were dis- 
tressed — 
They found of all a fragment small — poor comfort at the best; 
Their burnt remains and fire stains, one coffin held them all — 
A sermon they had the next day, well 'dressed to great and 

small* 
Those parents dear, while they did hear, did often swoon away— 
Their grief so great, who can relate how solemn was that day ; 
Their streaming eyes and mournful cries caused many hearts to 

melt — 
No one can guess, no tongue express how those dear mourners 

felt. 
Parents, forbear, your children are, no doubt, in heaven above — 
In joyful lays they sing God's praise, for his redeeming love: 
You 've often prayed they might be made partakers of his grace — ■ 
The fervent prayer, God does declare, he hears with smiling face. 

Like children now to Jesus bow, and kiss the sacred rod. 

In heaven at last the word is passed — you '11 praise the Lord 

your Goil; 
And there you'll meet, with greetings sweet, those children you 

deplore. 
And shout and sing to Christ, your king, to mourn nor part no 

more. 

* By Elder Ferris, of Lawronceburg — uow of sainted memory. 



ELEGIES. 197 

The near escape that you did make, ye children that survive, 
Should make you praise God all your days that you are yet alive; 
Your parents dear, while they are here, love, honor, and obey, 
That you at last, when life is past, may to heaven all wing your 
way. 

Both great and small, on you I call — may virtue each inspire — 
Be cautious, too, whatever you do, and how you use your fire; 
This world of woe, through which we go, is full of care and 

danger — 
And now adieu, dear friends, tp you, and him who is a stranger. 



LINES, 

Selected and composed on the death of a dear brother, who was 
lost at sea — poor fellow ! — and the only one of nine children 
that my mother ever lost. He was mate of the vessel ; was 
overtaken in a long and fearful tempest; had lightened ship 
fifteen tuns by throwing overboard; night set in, dark and 
portentous. It being desirable, yet a very hazardous under- 
taking, the captain did not command, but said: "Boys, dare 
any of you undertake to furl the flying-jib if let down?" 
]\Iy brother and a Mr. Knights, two as gallant tars as ever 
paced a deck, responded: "Let it down, and we'll take it 
in." And in attempting to do so, ray poor brother was swept 
overboard ; but being a firstrate waterman, he came up along- 
side, and called for help. Ropes, and every thing in reach, 
were thrown to him. Mean time, another mighty swell 
broke over him, and he appeared again in the trough of the 
sea, some ten rods, at least, from the ship. Conscious of his 
perilous condition, he cried out: "If you can't help me, I 
must perish ! help !" Then burled again beneath a moun- 
tain billow, in the next trough, his voice was again distinctly 
heard amid the roar of the warring elements, but could not 
be understood. How long he buffeted the mad waves is all 



198 cotton's keepsake. 

conjecture — perhaps an hour, or until siezed -by a shark or 
other monster of the sea, the very thought of which is agony. 



My dear brother, I would to thee 
Inscribe a fond, a mournful lay, 

Descriptive of my heartfelt grief 

When thou didst pass from earth away. 

Hark! my soul! what do I hear? 

The mournful, sad intelligence. 
That brother dear I so much loved 

Has gone, yes, gone for ever hence. 

brother dear, can it be so? 

Yes, thou alas! indeed hast fled 
To the regions of the cold, pale, 

And sheeted millions of the dead. 

Thy weary spirit breathed itself to sleep 
Beneath the surges of the foaming deep; 
Though thy shipmates could render thee no good, 
They saw thee, heard thee, and did the best they could. 

In that dread hour, we trust, to thee 'twas given 
To know, in part, what faith proclaims of heaven ; 
Yet 0! I mourn, and bleeds my wounded heart — 
Long shall I grieve, and feel the inward smart. 

And thy last words, " help ! or I must drown !" 
Thrills through my soul, a heart-affecting sound; 
It does seem hard that ^naught for thy relief 
Could have been used — 't is cause for deepest grief. 

That 'twas thy lot to die where those most dear, 
Nor weeping friends that gloomy hour could cheer; 
But so it was, and so it must remain — 
'Tis over with thee now — ah! why should I complain? 



ELEGIES. 199 

When thou didst die, could I have watched thy bed — 
On its last resting-place have laid thy fainting head ; 
To have seen thee die — to know that all was o'er — 
Thou decently interred — I could have asked no more. 

But 't is the same, no matter where we sleep, 
On burning sands, or in the ocean deep. 
Or beasts of prey, or monsters of the sea, 
Our frames devour — 't is all the same to me. 

But here comes memory with her busy throng 
Of tender images, forgotten long ; 
Years have hurried back, and as they swiftly rolled, 
I saw thee, heard thee, as in the days of old. 

Sad and more sad each sacred feeling grew — 
Manhood was moved, and sorrow claimed its due, 
While thick and fast the burning teardrops started — 
I turned away in grief, and felt that we had parted. 

But not for ever — in the cold and silent tomb, 
Where all are equal, thy kindred shall find room; 
A little while, a few short years of pain. 
And, one by one, we'll come to thee again. 

Thy dear loved Jane, worn out with care and grief, 
Shall lay her head by thine in sweet relief; 
Thy children, too, who mourn thy stay so long, 
Shall all in time, around thee surely throng. 

Thy parents, too, shall soon seek out the place, 
And rest with thee, the fifth-born of their race ; 
Sisters, and brothers, and thy every friend, 
True from the first, and faithful to the end. 

All, all in his good time who placed us here. 
To live, to love, to die and disappear ; 
Shall come and make their quiet bed with thee, 
Or in the grave, or in the surging sea. 



200 cotton's keepsake. 

With thee to sleep, throuj^h death's long dreamless night, 
With thee rise up, and bless the morning light; 
There face to face we '11 meet our friends again, 
And bid a long adieu to sorrow, death or pain. 

Then hail! all hail that blessed, blessed day, 
When from each cheek all tears are wiped away ; 
The tolls of death shall ne 'er be heard again, 
lu heaven's undying joy they shall for ever reign. 

glorious hope ! what joy it does impart. 
To mourning friends who thus have had to part; 
Yes, while I write, I know this truth right well, 
So brother dear, Hill then, ! fare thee well. 



LINES, 

On the death of my own sweet child, LeAvis A. B. Cotton, 
aged three years — our youngest and last child. The 
same I have often written for others with corrections to 
suit. ! he was a sweet dear little boy, and his memory 
precious, exceedingly precious unto my heart, even unto 
this day, and ever will so remain until we meet in that 
better land above. Reader, if they apply to you and 
yours, so appropriate them. 



CRUEL death! to seize our boy, 
Our Lewis dear, our hope and joy; 
To tear him from affection's breast, 
And wrap him in thy icy vest. 

But 0, sweet babe! the struggle's o'er, 
And rest is thine for evermore; 
With thy loved kindred in the dust, 
Thy precious form we now intrust. 



ELEGIES. 201 

Our hearts are full, our eyes o'erflow, 
So hard for us to let- thee go ; 
No more to see that precious smile, 
Which often did our cares beo-uile. 

a 

Yet the sweet hope allays the pain, 
That we shall live and love again- 
Love with a pure seraphic fire, 
Which never, never shall expire. 

Go then sweet babe, we give thee o'er, 
Soon we shall meet to part no more ; 
Our rapture then shall be complete, 
For there shall we each other greet. 

There with our pious kindred sing, 
There join with them to praise our king; 
There bid adieu to death and pain. 
And there in peace for ever reign. 



LINES 

Upon the death of infant twin brothers, children of James 
and Susan Mathews, 1824. 



Ye parents dear, to me give ear, 

Come hear my meditation, 
Your children, too, bring 'long with you, 

Come hear this sweet relation. 

Two lovely babes, I do engage, 
Were born last Sabbath evening, 



202 cotton's keepsake. 

Oa Wednesday night one took its flight, 
The other soon pursued him. 

Two sons they were, though small, yet fair, 
They were a pleasant portion, 

But soon they fled, to the quiet dead, 
How short was their probation. 

The sight was fair, I do declare, 

They both lay in one coffin, 
Innocent they, like dolls they lay, 

What could be fairer? Nothing. . 

Now just suppose the prettiest rose 

That ever bloomed in May; 
Not half so fair as that sweet pair. 

Upon their burial day. 

When they came in this world of sin. 
They found a world of sorrow ; 

Then closed their eyes, flew to the skies, — 
No trouble need we borrow. 

Let say who dare, that children are 

Not subjects of salvation, — 
'Less we become like them, not one 

Can gain a heavenly station. 

If children then, as saith my pen. 

Are unto men the standard; 
How can we, pray, cast them away? 

What! cast away the standard! 

To me 'tis clear, our infants dear. 
For whom our hearts are riven. 



ELEGIES. 203 

Rejoice and sing to Christ their king, 
In their sweet home in heaven. 

0! then adieu, sweet babes to you, 
'Till Gabriel's trump shall thunder, 

And then we '11 meet in rapture sweet, 
And sing, and shout, and wonder. 



LINES, 

On the death of infant twin brothers, children of Robert and 
Mary Smith, selected and composed, 1852. 



'T WAS on a time, and sweet the eve, 

And balmy was the air; 
I saw a sight that made me grieve, 

And yet the sight was fair; 
Within a little coffin lay, 

Two pretty babes as fair as May. 

Like waxen dolls in infants' dress, 

Their little bodies were ; 
A look of placid happiness. 

Did in each face appear. 
And in a coffin short and wide. 

They lay together side by side. 

A rosebud nearly closed I found 

Each little hand within, 
And many a pink was strewn around. 

With sprigs of jessamine. 
And yet the flowers that round them lay, 

Were not to me more fair than they. 



204 cotton's keepsake. 

Their mother as a lily pale, 

Stood by the coffin lid, 
And bending o'er them, told her tale [of 
sorrow,] 

And burning tears she shed; 
Yet oft she cried amid her pain. 

My babes and I shall meet again. 



ELEGY, 

Written on the death of Thomas Miller, President of the 
Miller Township Washington Temperance Society, and sung 
at a meeting of the Society, to pay a mournful tribute of 
respect to his memory. 



Ye Temperance friends, please lend an ear to what I now do say: 
Your dear beloved President by death is called away ; 
And we are met to mourn his loss, and talk his virtues o'er— • 
A custom that has long prevailed, e'en since the days of yore. 

Men, great or good, in every age, with all the tribes of men 
Have been revered and eulogized, and thus it is, that when 
They cease connection with the earth, their memory still lives; 
Rich is the inheritance to us, which thus the good man gives. 

And Thomas Miller well deserves the tribute which we pay, 
The celebration of his worth, and this my humble lay; 
True as the needle to the pole, he to his pledge did cleave; 
The loss of such a temperance man may well cause all to grieve. 

As husband, father, neighbor, friend, he well performed his part; 
"Was honest as the day is long," and pure in life and heart; 
He died as he long since had lived, with confidence in God; 
And now he rests from all his cares, beneath yon peaceful sod. 



ELEGIES. 205 

Our loss, dear friends, is bis great gain, his work of love is done; 
The glorious crown of endless life triumphantly he won ; 
Our friend, though dead, yet speaketh still, in silent eloquence; 
Let us his virtues imitate ere he was called from hence. 

And let us keep the temperance ball forever on the roll, 
Till doggeries, those sinks of woe, are crushed from pole to pole. 
God is our captain, he will lead our conquering army on, 
From conquest unto conquest fair, till the great work is done. 

To arms ! to arms ! ye valiant band, and pass the pledge around — • 
'T will prove a safeguard and a tower, and all our foes confound. 
Friend Miller, now a long farewell — thy memory shall not die — • 
We '11 cherish all thy virtues fair, till we shall meet on high. 

then repose in slumbers sweet, thy sins were all forgiven, 
Angels have beckoned thee away to share the joys of heaven; 
May we thy pleasing footsteps tread, our lives be lives of prayer, 
That when, like thee, Ave 're called to die, thy triumphs we may 
share. 



ELEGY, 

On the death of Merrit Scoggin, President of the Miller Tem- 
perance Society, who was murdered in 1845; being shot 
through the window of his own dwelling — two balls passing 
through his head, producing instant death. The base assassin 
was arrested, tried and acquitted, against the clearest convic- 
tion of his guilt, on the ground that all the testimony was 
circumstantial, and other et ceteras. 

Apothegm— Gen. iv : 10. — " The voice of thy brother's blood crieth unto 
me from the ground." 

AIR — ORIGINAL. 

Hark ! heard ye not that smothered groan, 
That piercing, mournful sound ? 



206 cotton's keepsake. 

The voice of our dead brother's blood 

That crieth from the ground — 
" Avenge me — for my bloody gore! 

Avenge me — for my wife ; 
Why will you let him run at large — 

The wretch that took my life ?" 

Softly ! thou dear lamented one, 

Thy country 's bathed in tears ; 
Thy wife — thy friends go sorrowing 

Through all their coming years. 
Thy Temperance flock is gathered here 

To mourn their President ; 
To pay just homage to thy worth, 

All — all are quite intent. 

"The Court and Jury," patient sat, 

One blessed live-long week, — 
With honest hearts — convicting truth, 

They diligently seek. 
The jury, lest they should do wrong, 

Let the poor culprit go, 
To wander up and down the earth. 

To drink the dregs of woe. \_Guilt and remorse, 

A thousand times would I prefer 

Thine own untimely death, 
Than to be doomed a fugitive 

Down to my latest breath. 
then repose in slumbers sweet, 

Till God shall judge the world, 
And all his burning thunderbolts 

Be in his bosom hurled. \_WUhout deep penitence. 



ELEGIES. 207 



Dear Merrit, now a long farewell! 

Thy mem'ry shall not die; 
We '11 cherish all thy virtues fair, 

Till we shall meet on hiah. 
Then chide us gently, dear loved one, 

Thy country 's bathed in tears ; 
Thy wife, thy friends, go sorrowing, 

Through all their coming years. 



TRIBUTE, 
To the memory of Mrs. Julia L. Dumont. 

"the unfokgotten dead." 

Softly 
She is sleeping now, 

She has breathed her last, 
Softly, 
While friends are weeping, 
She to heaven sweetly passed. 

A brilliant star has fallen and gone out for ever, 
And many hearts bleed as tender ties sever. 
Gone down, did I say ? rather up— up — up — 
To drink purer bliss from heaven's purer cup. 

Her transit was marked by a blaze of bright glory, 
To live on and live ever in song and in story ; 
Mrs. Julia Dumont of far-spreading fame 
Has passed earth's portals, but that deathless name 

Shall live on and on through all coming time, 
In history and song, in prose and in rhyme; 
She was, as all know, nature's highly gifted Poet, 
And well she knew when and how she miffht show it. 



208 cotton's keepsake. 

Her "chaste, thrilling tales" o^ fact or 6^ fiction j 
Are sound in their morals and^/ie in their diction; 
A very strong mind and a fond feeling hearty 
Enabled her ivell to perform her own part, 

In all the affairs and duties of life, 
As daughter and mother and an ever fond wife — 
As friend and as neighbor greatly loved and admired, 
Not gaudy and Vvain but ever neatly attired. 

Her sons and her daughters from her richly inherit, 
Mind, wit, and genius, to win fame, by merit; 
A star of attraction yet quite unassuming, 
Of her might be said without once presuming. 

Her fame and her writings we all fondly cherish, 
So spotless and pure theg never can perish. 
A husband most kind, with means fully ample, 
Ever sanctioned her efforts by force of example. 

May heaven in mercy bind up the bruised heart, 
'Till they meet in ''that clime" ""where friends never 

part.'' 
And now "cherished loved one" no language can tell, 
How fondlt/ ALL loved thee — farewell, oh farewell. 



ELEGIES. 209 



TKIBUTE, 

To the cherished memory of Clark J. Durham, "a Son of 
Temperance " who was fearfully mangled and killed in the 
Machine Shop of the O. & M. Railroad Company at Cochran, 
near Aurora, May 14, 1857. aged 18 years ; and respectfully 
dedicated to his bereaved and grief smitten parents and 
friends : 



This manly youth in life's bright morn, was called from earth 

away. 
Be mine the mournful, pleasing task, " a tribute" just to pay. 
Intelligent and good Avith all, a promising young man. 
Loved and respected by his friends, in virtue's paths he ran. 

Those sinks of woe where thousands fall, where " rum and 

ruin " reign, 
To lure him down to infamy, found all inducements vain. 
At home among his dear kind friends, or with some useful 

book, 
He spent his hours, improved his mind, — of pleasures pure 

partook. 

All full of hope, and joy, and glee, from morn 'till night he 

toiled, 
To aid his parents as he should, his manly hands he soiled. 
The debt of love and gratitude, he labored to repay, 
" Through all the pleasing scenes of youth," up to " that fatal 

day." 

Such generous, noble-hearted youth, are seldom to be found, — • 
Mangled and torn he passed away, to atoms almost ground. 
To parents, brothers, sisters, friends, he was most kind and 

true ; 
All mourn the loss of one so pure, dear Clark, adieu, adieu. 

Sisters, and brothers, how sad the breach made in your circle 

fair — 
Made in the circle of his friends, his comrades — everywhere. 

18 



210 cotton's keepsake. 

And now dear parents, let me say, I sympathise with you, 
Your hearts are wrung with anguish keen, I hear — I know 
'tis true. 

But how mucli ligliter is the pang to part with one so dear, 
Than though he were a worthless youth, to loathe, avoid, and 

fear, 
But still I know your hearts must bleed, your sighs be often. 

heard, 
It can not well be otherwise — yet in " the Sacred Word," 

You '11 find the promise rich and free, to all who bear the Cross, 
A life of glory in the skies, all else is surely dross. 
Parents and children there shall meet, brothers, and sisters too, 
All pious friends, and 0, I hope, I there shall meet with you. 

And now dear friends restrain your teai's, let sighs be turned 

to praise. 
You'll meet him soon, I fondly hope, in mutual, sweet amaze. 
May God in mercy grant to you his sanctifying grace, 
And may we all in heaven at last obtain " a resting place." 



A MOURNFUL SONG, 

On the tragic death of Charles Noyes* and Ephraim Crouch, 
who were drowned together in the Whitewater, near Harri- 
son, Dearborn county, Ind., May 20th, 1845. How, the fol- 
lowing will explain. 



Ho ! ALL ye dying sons of men, give ear to me awhile — 
A solemn scene I will rehearse, if heaven on me smile : 
Four of our hale young fellow-men, the twentieth day of May, 
Set out upon a fishing tour, with merry hearts and gay. 

* My lady's brother. 



ELEGIES. 211 

Their names, Charles Noyes and Ephraim Crouch, Anderson and 

Magee — 
They spread their sein near Harrison, quite full of hope and 

glee ; 
Thrice had they made a pretty haul, that pleased their fancy 

"well, 
rJut ! the fourth and last attempt — ho"w am I pained to tell ! 

That two of them, alas! were drowned — the third did scarce 

survive — 
The fourth was " cramped," yet saved alone this sinking friend 

alive : 
This "Tragedy," "in measured strains," so mournful to be told, 
Occurred thu^(as I 'm informed) — Magee, with courage bold, 

Swam out to cross a deep wide place, to draw their sein once 

more — 
About midway, his foot "got foul" — he cleared and swam to 

shore: 
Both Noyes and Crouch, in merry mood, laughed at his sad 

defeat — 
Said Crouch, " I '11 better that, you'll see, or else it is my treat." 

"0, do not try it," said Magee — "I've done my very best; 
It is too deep, it is too far;" but naught could him arrest. 
"If he can't do it, we both can," Noyes laughingly then said. 
"No, no," said And'son and Magee; but Noyes said, "Go ahead." 

Away dashed Crouch, but soon 'twas seen he was progressing 
not : 

Noyes cheered him up, " Swim, Ephraim, swim !" but no re- 
sponse he got ; 

Onward rushed Noyes to save his friend, and seized him by the 
arm, 

When Crouch hugged Noyes around the breast, which 'counts for 
all the harm. 

" help !" cried Noyes, as down they sank beneath the rippled 

wave — 
In plunged Magee, with might and main, his sinking friends to 

save: 



212 cotton's keepsake. 

Now Noyos, in turn, caught bold Magee, and thrice drew him 

below; 
But still Magee was nearing shore, when Noyes his hold let go. 

Magee swam out to take his breath, and stripped off every 

weight — 
Then plunged again his friends to save from their impending 

fate. 
Locked arms in arms, they then appeared, dashing the surface 

wave ; 
But ere he reached them, sank again into their watery grave. 

He dove, and dove, and dove again, but all to no avail, 
And swam, and swam the surface round till he began to fail; 
In agony he sought his friend, who stood upon the shore, 
The fearful space (as I 'ra informed) of forty yards or more. 

But soon exhaustion seized his frame, he too was sinking fast — 
Now Anderson, who could not swim, wades in, in to the last, 
And reaching out his neiwous arm, just caught him by the hair, 
As he was sinking down amain — 0, what a sad affair! 

With timely aid he was revived — the others soon were found; 

But naught could them resuscitate — what an alarming sound! 

Then side by side they each were placed, upon their wagon- 
bier. 

And thus brought back to their loved ones, alone, and sad, and 
drear ! 

A messenger was sent in haste to their surviving friends. 

Whose peaceful slumbers were aroused, whose shrieks the mid- 
night rends ; 

At early dawn, with solemn tread, "They come!" resounds 
from all. 

With bitter tears, and mournful cries, that did all hearts appal. 

Their fondest wives, in frantic grief, their aged parents dear, 
And many friends, all joined to swell the wail of woe so drear; 
But words, alas ! are powerless, and poetry is mute. 
Nor yet can fancy paint the scene with any just compute. 



ELEGIES. 213 

A perfect wilderness of men their burial scene did view — 
The sermon by the writer, from Job sixteen, twenty-two; 
This journey all, all soon must take, but how, or when, or 

where, 
No living mortal tongue can tell — 0! then prepare, prepare! 

These dear young men had never thought how near their glass 

had run, 
When they left home that pleasant morn, before the rising sun; 
Some fifteen miles from all their friends, almost as quick as 

thought, 
They were engulfed in death's cold stream, and rescued could 

be not. 

They had no wife nor mother dear to smooth their dying bed, 
Or cheer them in the trying scene, or hold their aching head ; 
Cut off from all their dearest friends, they gasp and die alone — 
Their winding-sheet a limpid stream — their softest couch a stone. 

The ways of heaven are just and right, though none should 

comprehend 
Why dearest ties asunder part, and friend is torn from friend. 
A few fleet months had only passed since each had married 

well — 
Ye widowed brides, full well I know, your anguish none can tell. 

! cast your every grief and care on your ascended Lord ; 
His promises most precious are — 0, take him at his word ! 
"He will provide" for yours and you, if you but seek aright — 
He'll be your husband, father, friend, and you his dear delight. 

Dear dying friends and neighbors all, especially young men, 
heed, I pra}^, this solemn call, this counsel of my pen ; 
" Prepare at once to meet thy God," for death is on thy track — 
'T may seize thee in thy sports abroad, and take thee all aback. 

May heaven sanctify and bless this casn'lty severe; 
Now to their mem'ry let us pay the tribute of a tear. 



214 cotton's keepsake. 

Farewell, dear Charles, and Ephraim too, till the last trump 

shall sound, 
And gather all our long lost friends from underneath the ground. 

Children of many prayers and tears, we trust to you 'twere 

given, 
In your last dying agony, to breathe your prayer to heaven ; 
Then fare you well, ye dear loved ones — earth's dearest ties 

must sever, 
But if so happy there to meet, we'll part — never — never! 



ON THE DEATH OF GILBERT ANGEYINE, 

Who was drowned in attempting to ford Green Eiver, on his 
way to California, June 2G, 1852, and respectfully dedicated 
to his painfully afflicted and bereaved parents, brothers, sis- 
ters and friends, and to all interested therein. 

AIR, ORTONYILLE. 

A WAIL of woe sweeps o'er the land, borne on a " Western" 

breeze. 
That sends deep anguish to the heart and makes its blood all 

freeze. 
A son and brother loved and dear, lured by " the shining ore," 
Bade weeping friends a fond adieu, and hastened to that shore, 

Where " gold " her banners had unfurled, inviting all to come, 
For she'd inducements large for more, and untold wealth for 

some. 
All full of life and full of hope, he urged his way along. 
When suddenly " death called him hence — Oh 1 what a mourn- 
ful 



ELEGIES. 215 



While on his tedious, -weary way, a stream he needs must ford, 
Whose rushing waters made him pause — but "onward" was 

the word. 
His faithful nag plunged in amain, when down the rapid 

stream 
Both horse and rider drift apace — he missed the ford, 'twould 

seem. 

*' I 'm lost," he cries, " without relief, friends, friends, come 

and save ;" 
But no, ah no — he sinks — he sinks into " a watery grave." 
Thoughts of his "childhood's happy home," come rushing to 

his mind, 
Of father, mother, brothers dear, and sisters, too, most kind. 

But they are all far, far away, and he must die alone — ■ 

His winding sheet the "limpid stream," "his dying couch" a 

stone. 
Oh, California, all thy gold, can ne'er a ransom pay, 
For all the anguish friends have felt for friends thus "far 

away." 

Some " in the mines," some hastening there, to death their all 

resign — 
Among the many " loved and lost," is Gilbert Angevixe. 
Lozier and Craig, Row, Dunn, and Hall, and scores on scores 

beside. 
And all like him leave weeping friends, and Craig, a fair young 

bride. 

Warm gushing tears and bleeding hearts proclaim their " depth 

of love" — 
All torn asunder ne'er to meet, 'till all shall meet above. 
why, why, should it be thus, that loved ones die apart ; 
Causing deep grief and bitter woe to crush both hope and heart. 

Such are " the mystic ways of Him," " who is too wise to err;" 
And Providence proclaims to all, 'tis wise to trust in her. 
Well, be it so, we all rejoice that our dear friend was found, 
And " neat and decently interred," upon a lovely mound. 



216 cotton's keepsake. 

There peacefully in long repose, lie sleeps " the sleep of death," 
God, home, and friends, his heart repeats with his last gurgling 

breath — 
Heard not on earth but heard in heaven," and sv>uft as thought 

they come, 
"A heavenly convoy" from above to guide his spirit home. 

Upward he soars "on wings of love," and leaves this world of 

care — 
For peace and pardon God loill grant to penitence and prayer. 
Farewell, dear Gilbert, now farewell, our hearts all bleed for 

thee, 
We mourn as true friends only mourn, dear, dear, dear, dear 

me. 

Could we but plant around thy grave the rose and jessamine; 
By that "lone spot," we every one long since most sure had 

been, 
But one by one will come to thee in the cold and silent tomb, 
And rest in long and peaceful hope " the universal doom." 

Then altogether we will rise and meet in heaven above, 
And join '• the anthems of the blest," proclaiming " God is love ;" 
And range " the blissful fields of light, and there forever dwell — 
Dear son and brother, we repeat our last, long, sad farewell ! 



LINES, 

On the death of John B., son of George B. and Jane Sheldon, 
of Lawrenceburg, aged ten years. Respectfully dedicated to 
the bereaved and afflicted parents, and to all other friends 
similarly situated. 

BY REQUEST. 

0, Johnny was a dear sweet boy, some nine or ten years old- 
Active in body and in mind, as I have oft been told ; 



ELEGIES. 217 

Bright hopes of future hajjpy days his parents fondly cherished — 
Alas! how soon he was cut down, and these fond hopes all 
perished. 

His prattling tongue, now hushed in death, will cheer their 

hearts no more, 
Till they shall meet him in the skies, and join him to adore 
That Providence which took him from this world's delusive 

snares. 
To spend a life in praise to God, instead of sighs and prayers. 

In that bright world, where all is peace, his little roving feet, 

From paths of sin, securely flit along the golden street ; 

He swells the anthems of the blest — one of that youthful 

choir. 
Who sing a song none else can learn, nor angel tongues inspire.* 

Dear parents, give, 0, give him up, and dry your flowing tears, 
And may surviving children cheer your life's declining years : 
Good-by, dear Johnny, soon we '11 meet in that bright world 

above, 
Brothers and sisters, parents, too, to praise redeeming love. 



LAMENT, 



For Mrs. Mart Jane West, daughter of Walter Hayes, Esq., 
who was thrown from her carriage near Hardinsburgh, and 
picked up a mangled and bleeding corpse. In 1826, Mrs. West 
•was one of my pupils, and just such an one as teachers always 
love, and never forget. 



Alas! my dear loved, cherished friend, 

My pupil years gone by, 
I mourn thy sad untimely fate. 

And heaves my heart a sigh. 

=:= Rev. xiv : 3. 

19 



218 cotton's keepsake. 

I call to mmd the scenes "lang syne," when you with others 

came 
To be instructed at my hands — your memory and your name 
I cherish fondly in my heart — you were indeed most kind, 
And one more fond none need desire, none e'er expect to find. 

Beloved by all- thy little mates, alike bemoaned by all, 
Thy sudden death has spread a gloom deep as the midnight pall; 
A husband dear in anguish mourns a wife most kind and true, 
And children fondly lisp thy name, and sadly sigh adieu. 

But thou hast fled to other friends who wait for thee above, 
To swell the anthems of the skies, and sing redeeming love ; 
Nor danger, nor misfortune there can mar our perfect bliss — 
How blessed is the life above when once compared to this. 

0! then farewell, my cherished friend, in peaceful slumbers 

sleep. 
Till we shall meet in heaven above, no more to sigh or weep ; 
Live on in light, and love, and peace, on that immortal shore. 
And dwell with God, and sing his praise, and triumph evermore. 



LITTLE JOHNNY STEVENSON. 

Several years ago, Mr. C. C. Stevenson, of Lawrenceburg, a 
gentleman favorably and extensively known all abroad, was 
expected from Cincinnati on the evening packet. His son 
John, a very promising little lad of some fifteen years, ran 
down to the wharf-boat to meet him on his arrival. A boat 
soon hove in sight, but it proved not to be the one looked for, 
and with a heart all full of anxiety and love, little Johnny, 
•leaning against one of the outer posts of the wharf-boat, 
threw his head around, gazing intently up stream, impatient 
for the right boat to heave in view ; and so intent was he to 
greet his kind good father, that he lost sight of himself, and 



ELEGIES. 219 

all around him. Meantime, the boat which had just passed 
rounded to, and came alongside the wharf-boat, without seeing 
the position of the lad, or the lad the approach of the boat; 
the bow of which struck his head, smashed it all to atoms, 
and entirely severed it from his body in a moment. He was 
seized and laid upon the floor; the purple life gushed out 
amain, and he was a headless corpse in a single moment. 
His father, arriving a short time after, was shocked almost to 
sufl'ocation by the appalling spectacle. The scene that ensued 
is utterly indescribable, and I will not attempt it. It is said 
to have been more than a match for fancy itself to paint. 
His dear fond mother utterly swooned away on receiving the 
sad intelligence. A strong and suitable sheet was procured, 
the headless trunk carefully enveloped, and it was thus borne 
home, and thus placed in its little coffin. Mrs. Dr. Harding, 
a lady of fine feelings and good judgment, says: "Taken 
altogether, it was the most appalling, heart-rending scene I 
ever beheld." It is quite easy to believe that, the blood fairly 
curdled in my own veins at the painful recital, and I almost 
involuntarily exclaimed in poetic numbers : — 

Mercy! mercy on me! 0, my soul ! what, 0, what shall I do? 
How paint this painful heart-sick scene in colors just and true? 
My faithful muse do n't fail me now — 0, come, my thoughts in- 
spire, 
While I attempt to "put in tune" my worn out, unstrung lyre. 

With sympathetic grief my heart does now profusely bleed — 
To tell you why, and when, and where, I will forthwith pro- 
ceed: 
John Stevenson, an active youth, of Lawrenceburg, fair city, 
Was by a steamboat crushed to death — me ! what, what a 
pity! 

This little lad ran to the wharf his kind, good pa to meet, 

But was returned a headless corpse, wrapped in a winding-sheet; 

His dear, dear mother swooned away, 'twas more than she could 

bear. 
And tears coursed freely down the cheeks of all assembled there. 



220 cotton's keepsake. 

His father, fi-antic with dismay, clnng to his lifeless boy, 
Whose pleasing manners and good mind inspired both hope and 

joy; 

But 0, how vain those cheering hopes, all in a moment fled, 
And that dear son so idolized, lies numbered with the dead. 

Dear mourning friends, restrain your tears, 'tis better for the 

lad— 
If he had lived, how oft his heart would here have been made 

sad: 
All now is o'er — go meet him, friends, in that bright world up 

yonder, 
Where deaths and dangers never come, nor loved ones part 

asunder. 



THE SUICIDE. 



jveral years ago, a young lady of Lawrenceburg, waded 
delibei-ately out into the river, just below town, plunged 
beneath the rolling stream, and drowned herself. She was 
discovered, but not in time to save her. Disappointed affec- 
tion, and approaching ruin and shame are supposed to be 
the cause of the rash act of desperation. God pity the 
wretch who could be instrumental of so much ruin and so 
much woe. Let the mark of Cain be upon him, and let him 
be "a vagabond on the earth all the days of his life," and 
if God can save him from the deepest, hottest, perdition and 
woe, without a penitence, deeper than earth's cavern, and 
more bitter than the wormwood and the gall, I do n't know 
how — that 's all. 



Down by the river a weeping maiden stole, 
Black as that river the flow of her soul; 
Deep as that river the woes that oppressed her, 
Wide as that river the thoughts that possessed her 



ELEGIES. 221 

Fast as that river flowed her heart's blood, 

As by the river a moment she stood. 

White as the river when rising in foam, 

Her death-striken cheek as she turned from her home ; 

The soft locks that pressed the snow of her breast, 

Were rich as the river, when over its swell 

The light of the moon in golden rays fell. — 

She is gone — and the river moves slowly along, 

She is gone — and the river is moaning its song ; 

She is gone — and the breast of the dark water heaves ; 

She is gone — and the winds tell the tale of the leaves ; 

She is gone — and the owls sing a dolorous wail ; 

She is gone — and the moon turned sickly and pale : 

The spring of her tears its last tribute has paid, 

And she sleeps 'neath the willow tree's saddening shade. 

Whence cometh the river, and whither its flow? 
The false one that injured her never shall know; 
Nor ever again shall his hard heart rejoice, — • 
Unceasing, that river's mysterious voice 
Shall rush like a spirit along by his bed, 
And murmur the plaint of the innocent dead. 



LAMENT, 

For Alanson Warren, of Manchester, who was drowned in the 
American River, California — and will apply with equal force 
and beauty to all our friends who " sleep their last long sleep '' 
in that far-off land of golden dreams, and is alike intended 
for all — among whom I will just mention Cornelius Row, 
James Lozier, Clinton P. Craig, Esq., Capt. George Dunn, and 
Gilbert Angevine from our immediate community. 



In the far-oflF land of the stranger's home, 
Where the south winds fan the breath, 

'Mid lovely flowers and golden dreams 
They laid him down in death. 



222 cotton's keepsake. 

A lone tree marks the sacred spot, 
Where he sleeps his dreamless sleep, 

And the moaning winds with a pitying sound. 
Their nightly vigils keep. 

And beauteous birds with silvery wings 

Will nestle in that tree, 
And Spring's sweet violets deck the grave, 

Which loved ones ne'er can see. 
And ! how oft will strangers' feet, 

That lonely spot pass by, 
Nor think of one who came so far. 

From his early home to die. 

Oh ! sad was the day, and the fatal hour, 

When his spirit sighed to roam, 
When he turned from the dear and sacred joys 

That clustered round his home ; 
Away from friends and kindred dear — 

Beneath that current's roar, 
He struggles, gasps, and then he dies. 

And he will roam no more. 

Farewell, Alanson, a long farewell, 

You live in memory still, 
Your stricken friends, all mourn your fate. 

Yet bow to heaven's will. 
Those ways are often marvelous 

And hard to comprehend. 
But happy those who do at last, 

Find God a present friend. 



ELEGIES. 223 

AN ELEGIAC ACROSTIC, 
Upon the death of a brother's infant son — by request. 



Just as " the olive plant " put forth its tender blade, 
Or rather the sweet bud, in death it soon did fade ; 
How frail is human life ! how many foes surround ! 
Nor peace, nor safety here, are seldom to be found. 

And yet, how apt are we to place affections where 
Man's fondest hopes soon end in grief or sad despair ; 
More wisdom then, by far the pious do display. 
In making sure that " treasure which fadeth not away." 

Come then, " ye weeping parents," your fondest babe give 

o'er. 
On Canaan's soil it blooms, nor can it wither more ; 
The sweets it now enjoys, transcends all human thought, 
The robe which it doth wear, by Jesus' blood was bought ; 
0! may you each obtain the sanctifying grace. 
Nor need I only add, that " there you '11 see its face." 



OBITUARIES 



THE GRAVE. 

Oh, Death ! a fearful refuge thout 

No sorrow there I 
The plants are hushed that heralded decay, 
While the dread shrinking from th' impending day, 
And fearful wasting of the frame away — 

Cease in the grave. 

No withering grief — 
That the poor heart o'er burdens with despair, 
Or vain endeavor to escape from care ; 
No broken vows, — no tear-dimmed eyes are there, 

In the lone grave. 

The storm's dark wing, 
Though spreading deepest gloom in angry skies — 
While through the darkness vivid lightning flies 
That blast and scathe, till vegetation dies — 

Harms not the grave. 

Want has no home, 
And envious slander, here, has lost her power: 
No friend's neglect — like fierce descending shower — 
Can crush the heart, like a storm-stricken flower, 

In the dark grave. 

(224) 



OBITUARIES. 225 

Let us rejoice — 
That rest like this awaits us when life's day, 
Fitful and troubled, ends. Its shadowy way, 
Through Death's lone valley lit by FaitWs pure ray 

Beyond the grave. 



In my time I have written scores of obituaries, by request 
and otherwise, the most of which I have preserved in 
printed "slips," and had intended to publish them in my 
little book, for the gratification of "mourning friends,'' but 
I must omit them, because, in spite of all my efforts at 
"retrenchment,'^ my book I see will be larger than in- 
tended, and larger than desired. But cost what it may — 
enlarge as it will, I must record a few, which it would be 
both ungrateful and unjust to pass unnoticed. 



Robert Sunman, of Pennsylvaniaburgh, Ripley co., Ind., 
died on the plains of Mexico, as a soldier and a patriot. 
His brother, Thomas Sunman, Esq., a gentleman and a 
scholar, and withal a particular friend of mine, at an ex- 
pense of much " time and money/' made a trip for him to 
Vera Cruz, exhumed and brought him home for burial be- 
side his honored father and friends in the beautiful family 
burying ground, where he now sleeps his " last long sleep 
that knows no waking." At the time of his last inter- 
ment, mine was the distinguished honor — the mournful 
pleasure — to pronounce the eulogy or oration, to an ex- 
ceedingly large and interested concourse of his friends 
and fellow-citizens. He had won the fame of being a hrave 
and good soldier, as he was a kind and good citizen, and 
as such I take great pleasure in "embalming his name" 
and memory in my little book. Ah! 

"Why should vain mortals tremble at the sight of 
Death and destruction in the field of battle, 
Where blood and carnage clothe the ground in crimson, 
Sounding with death groans.''' 



226 cotton's keepsake. 

Then again, why should nations fight more, than private 
men? 

Why not resort to reason, to a friendly arbitration, or to 
some 

Legally constituted tribunal, as in the courts of justice. 

the agony of " a battle-field,'' the waste of morals, of 
money, and of life, who can duly estimate — ^what 
numbers fully express it? 

Soon be the dawn of that happy day, when *' the na- 
tions shall learn war no more." 



Thomas Watts, son of the Hon. Johnson Watts, of Dear- 
born county, Ind., (who was himself a soldier in the war 
of 1812-14, a gentleman whom his friends and fellow-citi- 
zens have oft "delighted to honor,'' my early and my 
worthy friend,) also died on the plains of Mexico, and was 
returned and buried, with suitable honors and ceremonies, 
beside his "loved kindred and friends," in the old church 
burying ground at home. The official announcement of 
his death is before me, and but for lack of space, I should 
with great pleasure record it here, as intended. Suffice it 
to say, that it speaks of him in the highest terms of com- 
memoration and praise, duly certified by my esteemed 
friend. Col. Dumont, and his subordinates, which is a good 
indorsement. With him, however, the " war is o'er," and 
we fondly hope that he has also made "the good fight of 
faith," and won the crown of everlasting life. "Peace to 
his quiet dust." 



Dr. Cullen Crookshank, son of Dr. Nathan Crookshank, 
of Harrison, long and favorably known as an eminent 
pLractitioner, scholar, and geologist, and my old familiar 
friend, also fell in Mexico, where, buried with " the honors 
of war," he slumbers in a soldier's grave, and mingles with 
the dust in that far-off land of " bloody warfare." He was 
a young man of most extraordinary abilities, and one of 



OBITUARIES. 227 

the finest poets in the West. Let us hope that he tunes 
his lyre to 

" Nobler strains above." 



David Conger, son of Hon. Judge Conger, formerly of 
Manchester, now of Iowa, also sleeps upon the plains of 
Mexico. He was one of my kindest and most cherished 
pupils, and as fine a youth as ever trod the earth ; pious 
and exemplary in all the walks and duties of life. A very 
accomplished lady and poetess of New Albany, sang to 
his memory the following appropriate and beautiful lay, 
which may, in some respects, with equal aptness be ap- 
plied to all : 

Soldier, thou resteth on the enemy's soil, 

Far, far from thy native land; 
Thy dream is o'er, with its peril and toil. 

Away on the Rio Grande. 

"We weep that one so young, so brave, 

Of the valorous Dearborn band, 
Should seek a name, and find a grave. 

Away on the Rio Grande. 

But the glory of the warrior passeth away, 
Like lines that are traced in the sand; 

The laurels thou hast gained can never decay, 
Like those of the Rio Grande. 



Died — Perez C. Cotton, and Lewis Ammi B. Cotton, my 
own dear infant sons. 

Sweet babes, farewell. 

Go seek that quiet shore, 
"Where sin shall vex, 

And sorrow wound no more. 



Died in infancy — Victoria and Alvira, daughters of A. 
B. and Jane Cotton, my own dear little grand-children. — 



228 cotton's keepsake. 

Josephus, son of James P. and Priscilla Milliken. — Estella, 
a surpassingly sweet and interesting little daughter of 
Peter C. and Eliza Wilcox, — Sarah, another dear, sweet 
girl, daughter of Amos and Levina Noyes. — Abigail, 
another most lovely child, daughter of Benjamin and 
Sarah Sylvester, my little nephew and my little nieces. — 
James M., son of Alden H. and Amanda Jumper. — Helen 
Frances, daughter of James and Augusta Sellers. — Sparks, 
son of Joseph and Ellen Schooly. — Omer, a sweet, suffering 
child, son of Gilbert and Elizabeth Piatt. — Cassa, infant 
dear of Tyler and Martha Morris. — George, a dear and only 
son of Richard and Elizabeth Knox. — A sweet, dear little 
child of Ahira and Matilda Meader. — A sweet, dear in- 
fant child of Luther and Alcy Horham. — A dear, sweet 
infant babe of Robert and Fanny Ketcham. — A little dear 
babe of Charles and Betsy Cook. — An interesting little 
boy, son of William W. and Mary Jordan. — Mary, and two 
unnamed children of David and Nancy Crocker ; a sudden 
and sore visitation. — A sweet inftint babe of Purnel and 
Rachel Parsons. — Helen, sweet girl, daughter of Alonzo 
and Catharine Martin. — Isadore, Theodore and Mary, dear, 
sweet children of Joseph and Hannah Hansel. — Jenny, an 
afflicted, sweet little daughter of Addison and Mary E. 
Chandler. — All children of my relatives and friends, whose 
names I here embalm for preservation in my little book. 
Taken "from the evil to come," they are being early gath- 
ered into the fold above, " for of such is the kingdom of 
heaven." Sweet babes, farewell. 

**As when at morn the sturdy mower's seen, 
With sweeping scythe among the meadows green. 
Grass, shrubs, and flowers, all undistinguished fall, 
And wide-spread desolation covers all." 



Daniel and Nancy McMullen lost a sweet little girl, 
which called forth a nice little poem from a friend. I will 
only give the concluding verse: 



OBITUARIES. 229 

Then dry your tears, each weeping friend, 

For unto you a hope is given, 
If you but serve God to the end, 

You '11 meet Alvira up in heaven. 



Died— Mrs. Elizabeth M., consort of Richard Piatt. My 
only daughter, and the sweetest daughter that ever blessed 
a parent, died at the age of about 20, leaving a son two 
years old, and an infant daughter only six days old. But 
she died in the transport of a living faith. " I am dying 
now,'' said she, *' but I have no fears of death, my soul is 
^^PPy '■> ^ I never had such a sense of my Savior. It is 
hard to leave my kind husband and my little babes, but 
the will of God be done. Let me kiss them once more — 
take good care of them, and raise them up well," and 
again she fondly pressed them once more to her bosom 
and her lips, and gave them up, being quite exhausted and 
nearly gone, — reviving a little, she said, " 0, Pa ! 0, Ma ! 
weep not for me, I shall soon be with Jesus in heaven !" 
and then sealing upon our burning cheeks love's fondest, 
purest, holiest seal of affection and love, she fell asleep so 
peacefully it seems almost a sin to weep. How truly 
Young paints the scene, when he says : 

"The chamber where the good man meets his fate, 
Is privileged above the common walks of life, 
Quite on the verge of heaven. '^ 

"Lord, she was thine, and not mine own, 
Thou hast not done me wrong ; 
I thank thee for the precious boon 
Afforded me so long." 

! loved Elizabeth, 

"I SEE THEE STILL." 

"Remembrance, faithful to her trust, 
Calls thee in beauty from the dust; 
Thou comest in the morning light, 
Thou 'rt with me through the gloomy night. 



230 cotton's keepsake. 

In dreams I meet thee as of old, 
Then thy soft arms my neck enfold, 
And thy sweet voice is in my ear. 
In every scene to memory dear, 
I see thee still. 

In every hallov^^ed token round — 
This little ring thy finger bound, 
This lock of hair thy forehead shaded, 
This silken chain by thee was braided ; 
These flowers, all withered now like thee, 
Sweet daughter, thou didst cull for me ; 
This book was thine, here thou didst read; 
This picture — ah, yes, here indeed 
I see thee still. 

Here was thy summer's noon retreat. 
Here was thy favorite fireside seat; 
This was thy room, here night and day, 
I sat and watched thy sad decay ; 
Here on this bed, where thou didst lie, 
Here on this pillow, where thou didst die; 
Dark hour ! once more its woes unfold. 
As then I saw thee, pale and cold, 
I see thee still. 

Thou art not in the grave confined — 
Death can not chain a deathless mind ; 
Let earth close o'er its sacred trust, 
But virtue dies not in the dust. 
Thee, my daughter, 'tis not thee 
Beneath the coflBn lid I see; 
Thou to a fairer land art gone. 
And there I hope — life's duties done — ■ 
To see thee still." 

And although I greatly miss thee, and deeply mourn for 
my sore bereavement, yet I would not forget thee, no, 



OBITUARIES. 231 

never, never. The remembrance of thy dutiful obedience 
and great amiability of " mind and manners," the glorious 
composure and happy triumph of " the closing scene,'' the 
last sioeet, fond, and " farewell kiss," are " cherished re- 
membrances," more precious than gold, or even life itself. 
Yes, if the softest whisper could bring thee back to earth, 
that whisper should be suppressed. No! my "loved and 
cherished " daughter, no ; live on " in glory and in bliss/' 
"fast by the throne of God,'' and when the "duties and 
conflicts of life" are o'er, I '11 meet thee — by "the grace 
of God," I'll meet thee — -join in the holy anthem, and 
swell the holy chorus "to Him who hath loved us and re- 
deemed us by his blood." Hallelujah ! hallelujah ! amen 
and amen. 



Mrs. Phoebe, consort of my lamented son, Alfred B. Cot- 
ton, one of the fondest, kindest, neatest and smartest wives 
that ever blessed a husband, died in seven days after my 
lamented and ever cherished Elizabeth, leaving also a 
little daughter five days old. Her last and pg,rting words 
to all her friends were, "meet me in heaven! meet me 
in heaven !" and fell asleep. My bereaved son survived a 
few years, and then he too passed from earth away. He 
was. my first sweet little boy, the one I had in my arms 
"when beset with a panther, (see biography ;) a good son, 
a high-minded, honorable man, and " honest as the day is 
long." Children, farewell. 

"As the snow-flake, dancing beneath the light 
Of the glorious sun will melt from sight, 

So fond ones pass away. 
With the speed of a thought that upward tends, 
Do we hasten on with all our friends, 

To mourning and decay." 



Died — Mrs. Sarah Jane Morris, a most amiable and 
fondly cherished niece. — Mrs. Clara Smith, a cherished 



232 cotton's keepsake. 

friend, a lady of mind and refinement. — Mrs; Helen Free- 
land, an ever dear niece, loved and cherished. — Mrs. Sebra 
True, modesty and virtue personified. — Miss Alvira Noyes, 
a dear svreet niece, one of the finest young ladies, and 
sweetest poets, of her age, to be found. — Miss Harriet 
Pardun, Miss Caroline Povi'dl, and Miss Sarah Barrows, 
famed for their piety, loved in life, and lamented in 
death. — Miss Sarah Smith, for mind and piety almost an 
exception. — Miss Mary Jane Snell, Miss Eliza True, Miss 
Hannah Jane Conger, Miss Celia Ann Hansel, and Miss 
Sarah M. Jackson, were all young ladies of great moral 
excellence and piety, and all that I have here named were 
dear loved pupils of mine. 

Then here comes back to memory my dear and ever 
cherished friends, Miss Polly Ehler and Miss Ann Rodgers, 
how sweet how precious their memory still, — Mrs. Mary 
Ann McMullin, Mrs. Polly Slater, Mrs. Ella Bodine, and 
Mrs. Mary Slack, early pupils of mine, dearly loved and 
fondly cherished.— Mrs. Susan Boss, and Mrs. Philena 
Fisher, dear sisters and fondly cherished friends, are regis- 
tered in my kind remembrances, and I can but do myself 
the pleasure to embalm their names in my little book, as 
they are in my heart, my affections and my memory. They 
were all amiable, most of them pious, and died in " peaceful 
and holy triumph." Sweet poetic lays have been sung by 
surviving friends to their departed loveliness, which I 
should indeed be pleased to accompany these notices, but 
space utterly forbids. My good friends must excuse me, 
and "take the will for the deed." 

Miss Jane, daughter of the Rev. Daniel and Lucy Plura- 
mer, is also a name too precious to be lost. Though never 
a pupil of mine, her friends are m?/ friends, and I can not 
pass so cherished a name unnoticed. It is saying much, I 
know, almost too much for credence, when I say, in commou 
parlance, she was deemed by many to be " the flower of 
the family." Her kind and talented sister, Mrs. Dr. Har- 
ding, sang one of her sweetest poetic lays on the occasion, 



OBITUARIES. 233 

inscribed "To a Sister in Heaven," and so did Miss Lizzie 
Jackson to hers, to which I would gladly treat my readers, 
did space permit. In the place of which, and others before 
referred to, I will here introduce a very beautiful little 
poem from the pen of Mrs. Bassett, corrected a little to 
suit, which I think very appropriate and beautifully appli- 
cable to them all, and then I pass: 

" As comes the flowers in spring-time, to cheer us for a day, 
To charm and then to leave us, so pass our friends away ; 
Yet not like these they wither, they only pass from earth. 
Transplanted in their beauty to a land that has no dearth. 

Or like the stars that lend us their gentle beams at night, 
Not lost in the bright morning, they only pass/rom sight; 
Although the chain be severed which binds our hearts in 

love, 
The links shall all be gathered, and joined again above. 

On earth in the dear " home-circle," a dear sweet voice is 

hushed, 
And a heart has ceased its beatings, from which loved 

music gushed; 
One lonely seat is vacant, too, at table, church and prayer, 
A daughter, wife or sister, is missing everywhere. 

In heaven a happy seraph, amid the " angel bands," 
With crowns, and harps, and spotless robes, in radiant 

beauty stands. 
And pure, rich "strains of melody," which angels list to 

hear, 
Is added to ^* the choir above," though it be missing here." 

20 



EPITAPHS 



Of the many epitaphs that I have written, "by request" and 
otherwise, I can give place only to a few, as " specimens." I 
pronounced the " funeral sermon " of Joseph Hannegan, a 
venerable old " Revolutionary soldier," to a vast assemblage 
of his friends and fellow-citizens ; at the conclusion of which 
I read, and then presented to the family and friends, the epi- 
taph below, which was kindly and thankfully received. Sub- 
sequently I pronounced the "funeral oration" of Jas. Skaats, 
another venerable " Revolutionary soldier," who was buried 
with "military honors" and parade, under the command of 
Colonel Mark McCracken, Captain Hugh Scott, and others. 
There was, of course, "a perfect wilderness" of men, women, 
and children in attendance, with "music and banners" — a 
day not soon to be forgotten by me, or by " the citizens of 
York Ridge." By striking out the eleventh and twelfth 
linea, and inserting the following in their places, this epitaph 
will as fitly apply, and be quite as appropriate, as though it 
had been composed expressly for this purpose, and it is 
hereby intended so to be applied and used : 

A patriot true all proud oppression hates 
And none more so than our lamented Skaats. 



For Joseph Hannegan, a venerable Kevolutionary soldier. 
Beneath this stone an aged veteran lies, 
Who early fought for ''freedom's golden prize," 



EPITAPHS. 235 

And lived to see her " eagle, stripes and stars," 

On every sea, the pride of "gallant tars." 

In "seventy-six" he joined the "martial band" — 

For liberty he "fought vrith sword in handj" 

Hunger and toil, in common, was his lot. 

Which he endured, fought on, and murmured not. 

Kings vainly boast the "right divine" to reign — 

All men by birth equality obtain; 

Each patriot — the young, the older man — 

Fought for this truth with our loved Hannegan. 

"Three score and ten" he more than lived to see — 

Honored by all, as he indeed should be; 

How siceet his rest — "the prize was nobly won" — 

He boldly fought — he sleeps with Washington. 



Por General Mortimer De Lafayette. 

"The nation's guest" of "North America," 

In slumbers sweet, rests in this " house of clay," 

And o'er his dust all freemen shed their tears, 

As they recount his former brilliant years. 

While yet a youth, to aid the West, he flies, 

Then "struggling hard" for "freedom's golden prize;" 

None surely can, no, 7iever can forget 

The "timely aid" of our loved De Lafayette. 

All France must feel a loss before unknown — 

On one more true the sun has never shone; 

And Lafayette will "live in history" dear 

Until the close of the last " rolling year." 



For Mrs. Amos Noyes and her infant babe. 

Here lies a mother whose first born 
Rests in her arms till the "great morn;" 
They sleep unconscious of the tear 
That tells " the tale of sorrow " here. 



236 cotton's keepsake. 

For Mr. and Mrs. AYilliam Horner, who died within a 
few days of each other. They sleep side by side, and 
one marble slab marks the resting-place of both. 
A father, friend, and husband dear, 
In sweet repose, lies slumbering here ; 
His faithful wife soon after died, 
And here they slumber "side by side." 



For Mrs. Charles Noyes and infant babe. 
Here lies a mother with her babe 

Slumbering in her arms; 
Virtue was hers — pure virtue hers, 

And many were her charms. 

A husband dear those virtues prized, and her his idol made, 
But she has left his kind abode for "joys that never fade.'' 
Though short her "passage to the tomb," the struggle was 

severe — 
Many the friends who mourn her loss — " witness " the flow- 
ing tear. 

For infant twin -brothers, children of Jonas and Susan" 
Matthews, also of Robert and Mary Smith. 

Twin-brother babes, "fair as the rose," 
Lie slumbering here, in " sweet repose ;" 
Freed from a world of care and sin, 
They are "with God and bliss" shut in. 



For my own sweet infant son, and others. 
So sweet a bud, so fair a flower, 

Is seldom seen on earth; 
Comely in form, and bright, and good, 

E'en from his very birth. 
Transplanted soon to "fairer climes," 

By tempests no more riven — 
A bud too sweet, too fair for earth, 

Now blooms for us in heaven. 



EPITAPHS. 237 

Should my friends see fit to mark my " last, long rest- 
ing-place" with a "tombstone," let the following — neither 
more nor less — be the inscription upon it, except to fill 
the blanks correctly, computing the years of my ministry 
from 1817, at which time they really commenced, and I, 
of course, aged only seventeen at that time. 

HE 

WHO LIES BENEATH THIS STONE 

WAS 

BORN IN POWNAL, MAINE, April 20, 1800. 

DIED IN 

, 18-; 

AND WAS FOR TEARS 

A MINISTER OF THE GOSPEL OF CHRIST. 



'He being dead, yet speaketh." — Scripture. 



Let my foibles and my faults he ^^ forgiven and for' 
gotten,^' and the good influences I may have ex- 
erted in the world, and 'Hhe record" of 
" the Book of Life," alone preserve 
my name and my memory from 
^* everlasting forgeifulness." 



! stay, stranger, stay, and pause awhile 

Upon your "future state j" 
As I am now so you must be — 

It is the " law of fate." 
Virtue alone can you prepare 

** Death's trying hour" to meet; 
My "still small voice" consent to hear — 

My slumbers, 0, how sweet ! 



MISCELLANEOUS 



AN INDIAN'S GRAVE. 

Indian graves abound all over this country, but the one to 
which the reader is now directed is a peculiar one. When 
the Tribe was about to remove from " the New Purchase," 
now Ripley County, one of the tribe was exceedingly ill, 
nigh unto death. The moving day at last arrived, and the 
sick and dying one was left with an early settler, Mr. Moss, 
I think with whom the tribe made an arrangement for kind 
nursing and a decent burial. The parting scene was peculiar 
and affecting — that being over, they took up their line of 
march toward the setting sun. The sick man soon died, and 
was buried on North Hogan Creek, just above Moss' old 
Mill, in the vicinity of Elder Meader, who is both extensively 
and favorably known, and hence this reference. Standing by 
this unmarked grave, some years ago I pencilled down the 
following : 



REFLECTIONS AT AN INDIAN'S GEAVE. 

"The Red Men of the forest '' are fast melting away, 

And must be extinct at no distant day; 

When the white man first found them, they were happy and 

free, 
Possessed the whole country, lake, forest, and sea. 

(238) 



MISCELLANEOUS. 239 

They lived by the chase, lived happy and well, 
But the white man came ! and they suddenly fell ; 
Driven out from their homes again and again, 
They emigrate West, still the white men complain. 

They still want more room, and have it they must, 

If original owners be crushed into dust; 

At first received kindly, they discovered too late, 

In sustaining the white man, they sealed their own fate. 

In their conflicts for empire the best of them fell. 
And the " tollings of time " is their own funeral knell ; 
How scattered, and wasted, and feeble they are, 
Committing rash acts from "want and despair." 

Philanthropy weeps at the tale of their wrongs, 
Preserved in legends, tradition, and songs ; 
Slumbering here lies one of that ill-fated race, 
Who must die or " clear out," to give white men place. 

All feeble and faint, with a mortal disease. 
His tribe all forsake him, but first if you please. 
They secure him good lodgings, and kind nursing care, 
And then for their journey forthwith they prepare. 

The scene was afiecting, and the parting pow-wow, 
Seems echoing back from the hill-tops just now ; 
But the struggle is o'er, his spirit has fled, 
And here he reposes with the low sheeted dead. 

His kindred and tribe will long cherish his name, 
And the Christian philanthropist will cherish the same ; 
And erect as I trust, right here on this spot, 
A suitable monument that perisheth not, 

That ages hereafter may shed the warm tear. 

O'er the sad fate of him who is now slumbering here ; 

fate ! cruel fate, can naught interpose. 

To rescue this race from so many sad woes ? 



240 cotton's keepsake. 

Not short of that country all blooming and fair, 
Where nations and tribes find rest from all care; 
The Gospel of peace marks out the true way, 
Which leads from " all night" to the realms of " all day." 

There races and tribes of empires and lands, 

Shall meet there in friendship, and join their warm hands 

In token that war and contention is o'er, 

And sing of redemption, and the Savior adore. 

! then rest in peace " thou forsaken and lone — 
Man of the forest," the winds' hollow moan 
Shall sing thy low dirge, and birds carol here, 
To the end of all time — adieu, with a tear. 

N. B. No one would have this all an Indian country again. 
God never designed that it should so remain; we only complain 
of the rash and ci'uel acts of the white men individually, and 
not nationally. When Indian tribes have served the purposes 
of their creation, God will blot them out, as he has nations and 
tribes before them. "It is God's doings, and marvellous in our 
eyes." 



CHERISHED PUPILS. 

Miss Clara J. Collier, Miss Clementine B. Cook, Miss Alice 
Clark, Miss Catharine Fisher, Miss Lydia P. Roberts, and Miss 
Harriet Labourn, all interesting Misses, and loved and cher- 
ished pupils of mine, some time since wrote me a chaste and 
beautiful letter each, as their loved and cherished teacher. In 
answer to which I send each of them a corrected copy of the 
following poem. 



Fair Miss for thee I would inspire, 

And touch with truth my trembling lyre; 



MISCELLANEOUS. 241 

To sing thy praise in strains refined, 
For the improvement of thy mind. 
So easily thou canst indite, 
And then so fair, both spell and write. 

Proceed fair Miss, of genius soon 
Thou shalt receive the priceless boon ; 
Of praise and fame — yes even now, 
That garland fair entwines thy brow; 
With laurels that shall blossom gay, 
When beauty's wreath shall fade away. 

There is a charm in genius, which 

No art can reach — so rare — so rich. 

That all bow down and worship there, 

While beauty sinks into despair, 

And weeps that youth was spent with toys, 

Neglecting learning's lasting joys. 

Go on dear Miss, remember soon. 
Youth's morning passes, and the noon 
Of life comes on and on apace. 
When youth and beauty lose their grace ; 
But virtue's charm when these depart. 
Refines and beautifies the heart. 

Then seek the prize with studious care, 
'T will make thee wise, and keep thee fair ; 
'T will be thy friend in grief and woe, 
And cleave to thee while here below ; 
! ever walk in wisdom's ways. 
And mev'it fa7ne and honest praise. 

21 



242 cotton's keepsake. 



THE SQUIRREL. 

My brother-in-law a few days ago, 

Shot at a squirrel, I heard him say so; 

But missing his mark, the swift twirling ball 

Soon called at the house of Sylvanus Brimhall. 

While high in the air it made a strange noise, 
Fell flat on his roof, and was caught by his boys ; 
The morning was mild, the report he heard. 
Took about four steps as the ball appeared, 

So the time Hwixt the start and the end of its flight, 
AYas n't over five seconds, nor even that quite ; 
Sixty-five to the pound. is what the ball weighed, 
And seven score charges the same powder made. 

From where the ball started, to where the house stood. 
When measured, was found, just three and a fourth rood; 
So where the ball took its sudden discharge, 
To bring a small squirrel from a tree pretty large, 

Its acclivity's grade, I am happy to say. 
May be ascertained in this simple way ; 
The base forty feet as near as may be. 
Perpendicular sixty, and inches twice three. 

Ye learned and great, if any of you know, 
Please tell me how far this ball had to go? 
And how far forthright suppose it did steer. 
What then was its course in coming back here? 

And what was its achme or 'longation from earth? 

The wise wish to know, though fools should make mirth; 

An occurrence like this is certainly rare, 

Hence the pains I have taken to improve it with care. 

N. B. This is all true to the letter, and furnishes a fine 
question in projectiles. Boys try it, will you? 



MISCELLANEOUS. 243 



MOUNT ABEAM. 

In one of my visits East many years ago, in company with 
several dear relatives and friends, I visited Mount Abram, 
situated about 50 or GO miles north of Augusta, in Maine, 
whose summit is 3500 feet above tide-water, and 3300 above 
its own base. It is a hard and long climb, owing to its 
rough and bold surface, but paid well. The pi^ospect was 
grand beyond description, taking in at a single glance the 
whole romantic scenery around, as far as the eye could 
penetrate through the blue ether. It was exceedingly cold, 
(though a very warm day below) entirely above vegetation, 
except very little shrubs and mountain cranberries. It 
often thunders and lightens, and rains below while the sum- 
mit is basking in pure sunshine. I found a scientific gen- 
tleman with his barometer and other implements for ob- 
servation, who had gained the summit just before me from 
another direction. Thei-e were in all nineteen of us, and noth- 
ing but I must preach before we descended, and sing, pray, 
and preach I did, and I think we all found it a very pleasant, 
precious season. My friends so expressed themselves in 
refen-ing unto it. My text was " I will teach you the good 
and the right way." We had wandered strangely in our 
ascent up thither. We need not so wander in our way up 
Zion. A contrast with the fruits and prospects, and the 
company and the other etceteras filled up my sermon, to which 
my friends often since refer with seeming delight. Respond- 
ing to which, in plain prose I conclude thus: 



And now my dear friends and my kindred most dear, 
For me grieve not — vent not one sigh or one tear ; 
For when fleeting time shall have rolled its swift round, 
I hope on Mount Zion vrith you all to be found. 

On that holy mountain all those who obey, 
Shall each wear a crown which fades not away; 



244 cotton's keepsake. 

The streets paved with gold, they shall walk at their ease 
And pluck sweet ambrosials from life's fruitful trees. 

The fruits of Mount Abram, and Mount BradlDury, too,* 
Lose their beauty and sweets when Zion's fruit is in view: 
More glorious the prospect, more extended the sight, 
More lofty their notes, more full the delight. 

There glories and glories incessantly roll, 
And sweet anthems of praise enrapture the soul; 
How numerous the host on that happy shore, 
There millions on millions the Savior adore. 

With wonder and love his loud praises repeat 
And cast in full rapture their crowns at his feet ; 
How lofty their notes! thrice holy is he, 
"Who bear all my sins on Mount Calvary. 

There with the blood-washed we shall join the glad song, 
To Him who hath loved us all praises belong ; 
The regions of glory we there shall survey, 
And the tears of affliction shall be wiped away. 

The crystaline stream of the water of life, 
We shall drink as we please, and live without strife ; 
So now dearest friends all your mournings forbear. 
And dry up your tears, but ! meet me there. 

Where friends never part, and where tears have an end. 
Where all in full rapture eternity spend; — 
In conclusion, dear friends, permit me to say, 
I long shall remember that most pleasant day. 

* In tlie vicinity of Portland. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 245 



MY NATIVE STATE.— A PAKODY. 

Maine, Maine, dear, clear, cold old Maine, my birth-place 

proud and free, 
A traitor's portion be nay lot -when I prove false to thee ; 
While rolls the Androscoggin bright in silver to the sea, 
"While Mount Katardin rears its head I will remember thee. 

By every recollection dear, by friendship's hallowed tie, 
By scenes engraven on my heart, by love that can not die, 
By the fond, sweet farewell kiss, of sisters two and three, 
Maine, Maine, dear, cold old Maine, I will remember thee. 

I may not climb thy misty hills at twilight or at morn, 

Nor pluck the fruit in richness there, nor bind the sheaves of 

corn ; 
I may not climb the crags that hear the thunder of the sea, 
But by those ever hallowed scenes I will remember thee. 

Though in the far and fertile West, a pleasant home be mine, 
Though friendship pure should charm my heart, or beauty 

pour the wine ; 
I will not listen to the harp that plays for revelry, 
But in pure water plunge my cup, and drink a health to thee. 

And if from time to time, I chance to wander back. 

How blithely will I tread again, the old familiar track ; 

And if my friends pi-ove true and kind, (and false they can 

not be,) 
Maine, Maine, from thy pure mountain streams, I '11 drink again 

to thee. 



246 cotton's keepsake. 



MOUNT BRADBURY, 

Heretofore referred to, was owned in part by my lamented 
father. Many a happy hour have I spent about its base 
and its somewhat lofty summit, from which point the pros- 
pect is picturesque, grand, and imposing. Villages, churches 
and schoolhouses in every direction, are spread out like ,a 
beautiful map before you. Higher mountains in the north 
and east rise up to greet you. The beautiful Atlantic with 
her beautiful islands and floating palaces, with their canvas 
all spread, greet you on the south, and the White Mountains 
in the west greet you with their snow-capped summit. You 
may well imagine the scenery, grand and beautiful beyond 
description. The following lines, corrected to suit, are true 
to my fond musings. 

MY NATIVE MOUNTAIN. 

My native mountain ! how dear 

Thy memory is to me ; 
Thy lofty peaks and dizzy hights, 

I fain would often see. 
Again as when in boyhood's prime, 

I'd seek thy cooling shades. 
And sport among thy cavern cliflFs, 

Thy shrubs and pretty glades. 

I'd clamber up thy rugged steeps to catch the healtnfa' breeze, 
And slack my thirst from trickling rills that generate no dis- 
ease ; 
I would behold "the green blue sea," her islands and her sail, 
Her towering mountains round about, clad in eternal mail. 

Let cities boast their glittering spires, the fanes that men may 

rear. 
Their halls of art, their dusty streets, and smoky atmosphere ; 
But give to me my mountain home where all is pure and free, 
And you may have the world beside, for beauty, health, and 

glee. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 24 7 



THE LOVERS. 

In one of my eastern visits, I found one of my exceedingly dear 
fair friends betrothed to a mariner, then at sea. He, how- 
ever, chanced to pay a flying visit, and then must away 
again, over the blue sea. The meeting was rather interest- 
ing — the parting full of solicitude. Sympathizing deeply 
with them, and anticipating their feelings, I threw the fol- 
lowing into form, and handed it to my fair friend, who 
seemed to say, by a trembling tear, and a half-suppressed 
sigh, that I was a pretty fair judge of such matter. 



A SEAMAN'S FAREWELL TO HIS LADY-LOVE. 

The time has come, I must depart — 

I leave you with an anxious heart; 

What tongue can tell how true friends part, 

To meet, perhaps no more; 
The wind blows fair, I must depart 

For yonder distant shore. 

Though I must bid you now adieu, 
Oft shall I think, my dear, of you, 
As my bark plunges through and through 

Each surging wave; 
Where'er I am, I will prove true, 

Down to the peaceful grave. 

As I bound o'er the swelling sea, 
I oft in prayer will bow the knee, 
For her with whom I wish to be, 

At her own fireside ; 
And 0, what joy 'twould be to me 

To call her my sweet bride! 



248 cotton's keepsake. 

In view of that most liappy day, 

Weeks, months, and years wear slow away; 

Nor will I one fleet moment stay 

From her 1 love, 
More than to earn and get the pay 

To bless my pretty dove. 

In distant climes, my dearest dear, 
For you I oft shall drop a tear, 
As at the helm I stand and steer, 

Or pace the midnight deck, 
Till I my bark shall homeward veer, 

Or meet a total wreck. 

To know that I am loved by you, 
Affords me pleasure pure and true, 
More than the treasures of Peru, 

And yet I sigh 
To turn away and say to you 

That painful word — " Good-by." 



ANSWER. 

"Well, if you must, then, dear sir, go, 

Though I regret it must be so; 

Go, meet those toils which none can know 

Save seamen bold : 
My love for you shall ever flow 

As in the days of old. 

When storms arise, when thunders roar, 
And wind and rain in torrents pour, 
And drive you from your native shore, 

O'er the rough sea, 
My soul in prayer for you I '11 pour, 

For you are dear to me. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 249 

My heart, my love on you is placed, 
So deep, it can not be erased; 
Nor do I feel myself disgraced 

To own it here; 
Should my affection prove misplaced, 

'T would wound me most severe. 

But better things I hope of you — 
I have no doubt you will prove truej 
No unkind act will ever do, 

Through base design, 
But grace with love each interview 

Through life's decline. 

My earthly joys on you depend — 
With you my days I hope to spend, 
And find in you a constant friend. 

Through all the ills of life; 
It would my heart in anguish rend 

To live with you in strife. 

When all your voyages shall be o'er. 
And you regain your native shore, 
Then hie to me as heretofore, 

No more to part; 
Joyful I '11 meet you at my door, 

And clasp you to my heart. 



250 cotton's keepsake. 



RETORT. 

My Poetical and Political Address, in 1832, subjected me alike 
to praise and censure. Passing along the streets of Lawrence- 
burg, I supposed myself to be the subject of ridicule, as the 
following will explain. 



In Lawrenceburg, this very day, as every one may know, 

I passed, perhaps, a dozen men, all in a portico; 

'T was at the tavern door of Mr. Jesse Hunt, 

Nor had I far gone past, till thus I heard one grunt: 

"There goes an able poet — he lives in Manchester." 
"Quite eloquent," said one, "else may I never stir." 
Now if I only knew that this was honest talk, 
I should, perhaps, be tempted to take another walk. 

For every noble mind would choose to overhear 
His talents thus respected — no flattery could be there; 
And if those were my friends, in them there was no lack, 
They talked about my virtues precisely to my back. 

I do not make, however, this flattering, provide 
I looked upon it thus, that me they did deride; 
They were a worthless set, a thousand unto one, 
And on their naked pates I '11 pour the tide of fun. 

A shabby gang of loafers, I am inclined to think, 
Half corned on unpaid grog — bah! how they s — k! 
They little thought, perhaps, my hearing was so good, 
But what I 've here related, I clearly understood. 

And then there was among them a most uproarious snicker — 
" Come along, my boys,'' said one, " let us go and liquor." 
I rather guess hereafter they'll let me pass in quiet. 
And now, my larks, if this do n't do, do you again just 
try it. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 251 



BUNKER'S HILL MONUMENT. 

Many years ago I ascended this world-famed monument, from 
the summit of which the prospect is most delightful. It can 
not be adequately described, and I shall not attempt it. I 
will, however, record some of my reflections while standing 
upon its proud summit. 



Can this indeed be Bunker's Hill, so famed in song and story, 
Where Freedom struggled to be free, and won immortal glory ? 
The British here, with nodding plumes, with muskets — not with 

rifle — 
Thought to possess the small redoubt was but the veriest trifle. 

In solid column they parade, then march to gain the summit, 
But soon they found, much to their cost, they could n't begin to 

come it. 
The Yankees, true as flint and steel, soon had them in hot water; 
Their leaden messengers proclaimed, '< My friends, you 'J better 

potterJ^ 

In wild confusion driven back, again they form and rally — 
Again are filled with sad dismay along both hill and valley. 
Our ammunition now gives out, the Yankees though — golly ! — 
Give them one more deadly round, a farewell leaden volley. 

The next we know, they 're on the move, all safely now retreat- 
ing— 

The British take an empty fort, and fain would call that beating; 

But Fame declares that Freedom won a most decided battle — 

She made the hearts of Britons quake, and all their " dry bones 
rattle." 

They felt it then, they feel it now, our boys were quite too many, 
And foot the bill with many lost, and many a shining penny. 
Alas! for us brave Warren fell, and lay him down all bleeding, 
For bravery and honest fame his comrades all exceeding. 



252 cotton's keepsake. 

Said he, ''My general, place me where there is the greatest 

danger — 
Mj heart to fear, in freedom's cause, has ever been a stranger." 
Immortal youth, " the scroll of fame " has not a brighter jewel — . 
To tarnish thy Avorld-spread renown, there 's none so base and 

cruel. 

This moument of "polished stones," proclaims, in tones of 

thunder, 
We gained the day at Bunker's Hill — the world says yes, with 

wonder ; 
Thus musing, here I feast my eyes with prospects grandly fair — ■ 
Here's Charlestown city at my feet, and Boston over there. 

And there I see Faneuiel Hall, and there is Boston Bay, 

And there the White Hills pierce the clouds, northwestward, far 

away; 
Here I could linger with delight, and feast my ravished eyes 
On scenes that charm, but time forbids, and I obey with siffhs. 

0, throw away the "filthy weed," and whisky, rum, and beer, 
And save your "dimes," young gentlemen, to pay a visit here; 
Here you can drink from Nature's fount — 0, come and drink 

your fill — 
Pull well 1 know you'll ne'er regret your trip to Bunker's Hill. 



THE WE ATHERVANE. — FICKLE-MINDEDNESS. 

" LOOK ON t' other SIDE, JIM." 

Many years ago, while gazing upon a weathervane, in a tem- 
pestuous storm, the following were my reflections. 



Halloo! Mr. Weathervane, up there so high, 
To call the attention of each passer-by; 



MISCELLANEOUS. 253 

For dodging and turning thou hast a great fame, 
And seemest to glory in nothing but shame ! 

"Stability and firmness^' are strangers to thee — 
Thou art veering and veering, as we all daily see ; 
Fit emblem of those who would every one please — 
Neither "backbone," nor muscle, and very weak knees. 

They float with the current, and never touch an oar, 
To keep in the channel, or out from the shore ; 
Shame, shame upon those who, dreading the strife, 
Affect nothing good all the days of their life. 

A blank and a cypher, they 'cumber the ground — 
No "fruit unto righteousness" in them is e'er found; 
And up there thou standest, by night and by day. 
Dodging and turning, to show them the way. 

But hold, Mr. Weathervane, I have done thee great wrong — 
Looking "on t'other side," greatly changes my song; 
Like a brave-hearted man, thou facest the storm. 
By night and by day, in cold Aveather and warm. 

There's wisdom in that, and good generalship, too, 
Which need not be argued, I'm sure, unto you; 
Tail foremost or sidewise, you 'd take the whole shock. 
And know not what was coming till you felt a hard knock. 

Be on the alert, and keep a good guard. 

And you'll find nothing in life that is overly hard; 

You are right, Mr. Weathervane — your example is good — 

You face every storm just as every one should. 

Y'ou make your life easy by facing each foe. 

And "which way the wind blows," you let every one know; 

A sentinel so true deserves honest fame; 

And shame blister his tongue who 'd give you a bad nama 

There's a moral in this, if nothing that's witty — 
May you all profit by it — thus endeth my ditty. 



254 cotton's keepsake. 

the forest oak.— firmness. 

"look on this side, then on that." 

Once on a time, while viewing a large and beautiful forest oak 
uprooted and prostrated by a furious blast, I fell into the fol- 
lowing train of reflections. 



Old forest oak, you've long been lauded to the sky, 
Because unyielding, you'd sooner break and die; 
Well, here you lie — your glory gone and shattered, 
Although your stubbornness profusely has been flattered. 

I '11 talk unto you plainly since here you lie all humble— 
I '11 do it for the good oiyours though you yourself should 

grumble ; 
Censures and praises are too often misapplied — 
Men censure where they should applaud, applaud where 

they should chide. 

You have the grit, as all agree, so has the stubborn mule — 
If less stubborn, he 'd find it better, and you by the same 

rule ; 
Can it be wisdom to contend where we are sure to fall? 
Keep your position while you can, and that is firmness all. 

And then if you don't win to-day, you may some other time — 
I hope this hint will do you .good, though couched in simple 

rhyme ; 
Let men praise stubbornness if they choose, in that there is 

no merit. 
Although I know that your's by birthright you inherit. 

You see your error now, but then it is too late — 
Learning a lesson from it, I leave you to your fate; 



MISCELLANEOUS. 255 

Why is it that men can't see but one thing at a time? 
Such can not half life's sweets enjo}^ — here is more truth 
than rhyme. 

Unyielding men are all for fight, and always in dispute 
'Bout little things of little worth — you can not thus refute ; 
Would you succeed in doing good, you must both give and 

take, 
Where things seem balanced, or even where there is not 

much at stake. 

Another time you may succeed, and vindicate the right, 
And all proceed in harmony, in friendship, and delight; 
Now little oaks, if you are wise, w^hen mighty tempests roar, 
You'll yield a little to the blast, then straighten up once more, 

And live to be the forest's pride, instead of lying flat, 
Which you, if stubborn, can't avoid, now just remember that. 
Here is a moral true and good, intended for young men — 
Hoping that all may profit by it, I '11 stop and mend my pen. 



N. B.—" Contentment," and "A Rolling Stone," and "The 
Jug Handle," being of a similar character, are omitted. Why, 
we owe all the great improvements in the arts and sciences to 
discontentment; and no man ever effected any thing good for 
himself, or the world, by lying supinely on his back in inglori- 
ous inactivity. Do all that can be done, and then be content 
with whatever Providence may give. So again, "roll on and 
roll ever" — no time to idle away — "push along, keep moving," 
so long as you can do ox get good. But a shiftless, restless, un- 
decided minded man never accomplishes any thing good, but 
wastes and squanders what he has, A double-minded man is 
unstable in all his ways — such 

" A rolling stono gathers no moss." 

A very firm and set man, we say, is "like a jug handle" — all 
the time on one side. Well, when a man is rirjUt^ that is just 
where he ought always to be, and you always know where to 



256 cotton's keepsake. 

find him; and beside, the "jug-handle," knowing that it could 
not better itself, or any body else, by a change of places, is con- 
tent to remain just where it is. There's a good moral for you 
out of a "jug-handle;" and here is another one of the same 
sort; for although it often has liquor right under its very nose 
it never tastes a single drop of it. "Go thou and do likewise." 
The moral contained, and silently, yet eloquently proclaimed, by 
these inanimate and much-abused things, is "the key that un- 
locks" the mystery to many — why it is, and how it is, that I 
am ever busy, and yet a quiet, happy man. I pass. 



NEW YEAR'S ADDRESS, FOR 1832. 

In the 47th No. of the Indiana Palladium of 1831, the following 
editorial appears, to wit: "We had a confab with our devil 
last night, upon the subject of the approaching New Year. 
And his satanic majesty authorized us to offer this paper for 
one year, which we now do, to the author of the best New 
Year's Address, of from 80 to 100 lines in length, either in 
prose or poetry. I responded thus : 



To his Satanic Majesty, the Printer^ s Devil. — Your Reverence:. 

If five and six make just eleven, 

Then in number forty-seven 

Of the Palladium I do see, 

That your satanic majesty 

Has authorized the printer to ofi*er 

A few of " the rustles," out of your coffer ; 

Or what is still better, though a strange caper. 

For one whole year your excellent paper, 

For a piece well adapted to the coming New Year, 

So at it I go, as below will appear — [which won.) 



MISCELLANEOUS. 257 

"We hail with joy, our friends upon this day, 
May bitter strife be banished far away ; 
Thus shall we all with songs of joy appear, 
To welcome in the new-born, happy year. 

! what changes occur in human life, 
A strange compound of pleasure, pain, and strife ; 
Yet friends and foes each twelve month do appear, 
To wish to each, a new and happy year. 

And thus do we, with joy all celebrate. 
The happy year — the high, the low, the great ; 
All equal feel, and equal all appear, 
To wish to each a new and happy year. 

When we look back upon " the days of yore,'' 
Much cause we find our Savior to adore ; 
His name we praise with voices loud and clear, 
That we behold another happy year. 

0, what dangers we 've past in safety by, 
What matchless grace we've found forever nigh: 
Then let us all wiAi grateful hearts appear, 
To celebrate the new-born happy year. 

The pestilence its fatal darts has hurled. 
Both thick and fast throughout the wide-spread world, 
Thousands have fell both in our front and rear. 
Yet we survive to see another year. 

True, one year more of our short time is past, 
Nor do we know but this Avili be the last; 
HoAV precious then each moment must appear. 
Let's 'prove them well the present happy year. 

By retrospect what errors we may may find, 
Let us correct with all the heart and mind; 
Thus shall we feel a conscience always clear ; 
Nor can we fail to spend a happy year. 
22 



258 cotton's keepsake. 

We should do well to take a broad, survey, 
Of men and things upon this happy day ; 
From cheeks of grief, ! let us wipe the tear, 
By works of love the present happy year. 

How many pine for want of daily bread, 
While happy we, on luxuries are fed ; 
! let the poor the joyful tidings hear, 
You shall find aid the present happy year. 

And some again both on the land and sea, 
In bondage groan, and long to be set free ; 
They sigh in vain — in vain they shed their tears, 
And thousands will, the remnant of their years. 

Yet we rejoice to see the efforts made, 
The interest felt by men of every grade. 
To free them all, and wipe away their tears — 
May they succeed e'er many fleeting years. 

Oar liberty, more precious than fine gold. 
We still enjoy as in the days of old. 
Many such thoughts in colors bright appear, 
At the return of each new happy year. 

And there are those whom reason hath forsook. 
Such men we see, where'ersoe'er we look. 
Yet we retain our senses bright and clear, 
To greet our friends with a new happy year. 

How many sick are groaning under pain, 

At home, abroad, through Europe, France, and Spain, 

Yet happy we, in perfect health appear. 

At the return of this new happy year. 

What numbers have from life's ambiguous shore, 
Pushed off in haste, since New Year's Day before ; 
And o'er their dust we shed our flowing tears, 
And sigh to think of former happy years. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 259 

Such thoughts as these should nerve us for the race, 

And stir us up to quicken our slow pace, 

And secret prayer to christians ever dear, 

We should observe through each succeeding year. 

All such as do the golden rule obey, 
In reference live to an eternal day, 
Forsake all vice — hold virtue to them dear, 
Will surely spend a happy, happy year. 

The printer, friends, should never be forgot. 
He toils for all, and respite he has not ; 
All new and fresh, each week his sheets appear. 
Support him well the present happy year. 

But oh ! how soon New Years will be no more, 
Eternity will crown the ample score. 
Majestic scenes most surely will appear. 
At the grand close of the last solemn year. 

The burning sun, the silver queen of night, 
And all the stars that shine with luster bright; 
Shall quit their orbs, and ever disappear. 
At the awful close of the last dying year. 

The trump shall sound, and all the dead awake, 
Seas shall retire, and all the mountains shake. 
The Judge descend, ten thousand saints appear, 
To crown the scene of the last awful year. 

The wicked quake in horror and dismay. 
They stand aghast! and now aloud they pray: 
Rocks on us fall — the day of wrath draws near. 
We are undone — 0! for another year. 

The Judgment sits, the books are open wide. 
He calls the good, makes them his happy bride. 
From every face he wipes off every tear, 
Thrice welcome then the closing final year. 



2G0 cotton's keepsake. 

For then shall we our pious kindred meet, 
And join with them to walk the golden street ; 
In songs of praise to angels ever dear, 
We 'II sing and shout a long, long happy year. 



NEW YEAR'S ADDRESS. 

The moments fly — a minute's gone; 
The minutes fly — an hour has run ; 
The day has fled — the night is here ; — 
Thus flies a week, a month, a year ! 
A year, alas! how soon 'tis past — 
Who knows but this will be the last: 
A few short years, how soon they 're fled, 
And we ai'e numbered with the dead ! ! 

All hail the day ! the happy day, the first day of the year — 
The day that we with joy and glee, salute our friends most 

dear. 
As the days of yore return no more, be gone each gloomy fear^ 
Free from all hate we celebrate the new-born, happy year. 

May love and peace with us increase — may strife be done away, 
And thanks and praise crown all our days while here on earth 

we stay. 
Let us correct by retrospect what errors may appear. 
Free from all sin seek to begin the new and happy year, 

"The Temperance Ball," let's one and all just give it one 

more turn. 
And may it roll from pole to pole — a cause of vast concern. 
Where'er 'tis hurled throughout the world it scatters want and 

fear, 
And gives to all both great and small a sober, happy year. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 261 

Much lias been done since we begun to dry this fount of woe, 
The halt and maimed have been reclaimed, and on rejoicing 

go. 
The fair with smiles our toil beguiles, which brings to them 

good cheer : — 
Take courage then ye Temperance men, and do your best this 

year. 

Another year it doth appear, of our short time is past ; — 
It may be so for aught we know, that this will be the last. 
To go along then with my song, each moment, 0, how dear! 
Both great and small, we wish to all a new and happy year. 

In Cape de Verd we 've often heard, they lack for daily bread, 
While we, indeed, scarce know to need, on luxuries are fed. 
And we are free as free can be, — there 's naught on earth so 

dear. 
While the poor Slave seeks in his grave his only happy year. 

And some indeed, we should take heed, ai'e now on beds of 

pain. 
While happy we, through mercy free, our health and strength 

retain. 
While some again are quite insane, our faculties are clear, — 
We should adore our Savior more the present happy year. 

Many there were who bade as fair twelve months ago as we 
To see this day ; but we must say long have they ceased to be — 
Long have they lain among the slain, — o'er them we shed our 

tears, 
Nor will they more as heretofore, salute the new-born years. 

Yet we behold with joy untold, this truly happy day, 
Then let us now to Jesus bow, and own His sovereign sway. 
And to His praise devote our dajs, nor think the task severe, ' 
Since by His grace His love we trace through each succeeding 
year. 



262 cotton's keepsake. 

When we survey the narrow way which leads to life and peace, 
With here and there a fatal snare, to make our jars increase, 
We should draw nigh to God on high — ask grace to persevere; 
Thus should we all, both great and small, enjoy a happy year. 

Such thoughts as these by swift degrees do crowd themselves 

along 
On New Year's Day; and well we may prolong the grateful 

song. 
All such as do this course pursue — hold virtue to them dear — 
Are amply sure if they endure, to spend a happy year. 

But soon, alas, we all must pass into " the Dread Unknown," 
Far in the air we know not where, our spirits will have flown. 
Most sure we must take all on trust beyond this vale of tears; 
Yet we intend somewhere to spend unnumbered happy years. 

God's precious Book, when in we look, dilates the soul with 

joy; 
It paints the scene in verdant green, where pleasures never 

cloy, 
On streets of gold we shall behold our pious kindred dear, 
And live in bliss, when freed from this, a long, long happy 

year. 

Fleet years, alas, how swift they pass — soon time will be no 

more — 
Eternity a boundless sea will crown the ample score. 
And there may we for ever be — loud hallelujahs hear, 
In joyful lays our Savior praise through an eternal year. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 263 



EXPLOSION OF THE STEAMER REDSTONE. 

Some five years ago, on one of my temperance tours, I was en- 
joying the kind hospitalities of a friend in Mt. Sterling, when 
suddenly all were startled by some fearful explosive element, 
that shook to its very foundation the fine dwelling we occu- 
pied. What it was, no one could conjecture, and we gave it 
up, leaving it to time and chance to explain. But we were 
not long held in suspense, for shortly after a courier was seen 
spurring onward his already jaded nag through the village, 
proclaiming, as he passed: "The steamer Redstone has just 
blown up, a few miles below Vevay, scattering death and ruin 
in every direction!" and on he urged his way, to inform some 
acquaintances, •who were deeply interested, of the sad state 
and condition of their friends. With a sad and trembling and 
fearful heart, I retired to my room, and with my pencil threw 
the following reflections upon paper. 



steam! steam! steam! thy fearful power, when "bursting" 

fi'om control, 
Is quite enough to chill the blood, and freeze the very soul ; 
Upon our rivers and our lakes, upon our oceans wide. 
What fearful ruin thou hast wrought — by thee, what thousands 

died! 

And lo ! another fearful tale is added to the list. 

Of friends who have just passed away, to be bemoaned and 

missed ; 
Perhaps some dear kind friends of mine,* whom I have fondly 

cherished, 
Are tortured now with bitter pains, or suddenly have perished. 

The "Redstone," that proud, gallant craft, has just "collapsed 

her boiler," 
And sent to his eternal home many a hardy toiler: 

-=It was even so — three young lueu of Lawrenceburg, friends of mine, per- 
ished in that fearful occurrence. 



264 cotton's keepsake. 

I felt the shock, I heard the sound — 0, what a fearful slaughter 1 
The dead and dying strewn around, far o'er the land and water. 

Some were engaged in life's pursuits, and some on tours of 

pleasure — 
Some hastening home to greet their friends — to meet no more 

for ever ; 
The pain and anguish scattered wide, no language can portray, 
Filling the hearts of many friends with anguish and dismay. 

steam! steam! steam! what hast thou done — what wide- 
spread ruin wrought? 
Never to be made up in time — never to be forgot; 
And yet thy matchless power for good is far above all price, 
And when controlled bv skillful hands, it is both safe and nice. 

"We can not do without thee now, for speed, or power, or dimes, 
And he who really thinks we can, is far " behind the times;" 
Let good and sober engineers stand ever at the helm, 
And sad disasters seldom will the land with grief overwhelm. 

Then let us hear for evermore thy proud, majestic puff, 

And shame on him who first cries out, ^'■Hold up — enough, 

enough !" 
Nay, let thy mighty moving voice be heard from pole to pole^ 
Until the wheels of time wear out, and cease their mighty roll. 



In my communication about the ill-fated steamer "Redstone," 
reference was made to the three young men of Lawrcnceburg, 
who perished in that fearful catastrophe. They, after much 
search, were found, and brought home, and buried side by 
side, among their slumbering friends, in the City Burying 
Ground of Lawrcnceburg, Ind., and a beautiful monument, 



MISCELLANEOUS. 265 

erected by the young men of the city, marks their resting- 
place. A few days ago, for the first time, I stood beside it. 
While musing there, I penned down the following reflections. 
Like the former, these poetic numbers are deficient in order 
and harmonv — the off-handed efiusion of the hour. 



AiiAS ! alas! how frail is human hope and life — 

Frail as a fleeting breath ; 
Quick as thought men often pass away 

To the repose of death. 
The fond pursuit of pleasure, wealth, or fame 

Presents no "Plea in Bar;" 
And ! how soon an unexpected sad event 

The brightest prospects mar. 

The three young men who rest beneath this stone 

Illustrate this great truth ; 
Though dearly loved, they passed from earth away 

In the bright morn of youth. 
They left their friends upon a pleasure tour, 

All full of life and glee, 
Not dreaming of their near approach 

To great eternity. 

The pilot's bell is heard — the wheels at once are still- 

The boat made fast to shore — 
The steam retained — friends meet, and part 

To meet in time no more. 
*^The holler bursts" — sad ruin and dismay, 

Wide-spread, upon them f^tll, 
And shrieks and groans now rend the air, 

That iron hearts appall. 

! what a change one fleeting moment wrought 

On that ill-fated crew ! 
How precious then our short-lived moments are — 

Would all could feel Jioiv true! 
23 



266 cotton's keepsake. 

The " Kedstone " fair, the proudest little craft 

On the Ohio clear, 
Collapsed a flue a few short years ago, 

And trophies sad lie here! 

Chisman and Golde, and Durbin, too, 

Young men of honest fame. 
In one sad hour all passed away, except 

The memories of their name. 
That never can, long as this marble fair 

Shall stand the test of time ; 
So slumber on, kind cherished friends — 

Rest and repose were early thine. 

The passer-by will gaze upon this stone 

AVith interest and delight. 
As he shall learn your early years 

AVere stamped with " honor 'bright." 
Kindred and friends will cluster here 

To pay the tribute due ; 
My time is up, and I must go — 

Young men, adieu, adieu! 



THE SNOW-BIRD. 



During the late bitter cold winter, " the little birds " were 
fluttering about my doors and windows, sharing ray bounty, 
(for we always feed the "winter birds") and exciting my 
admiration and my sympathy. To beguile a lone hour in 
very feeble health, with which I have long been afflicted, and 
from which I hardly hope ever to recover, I sat me down 
and " ground out "' 

Pretty little snow-bird, with tiny feet bare. 

In this bitter "snow-storm'' you can find shelter — where? 



MISCELLANEOUS. 267 

The forests are leafless, and deep is the snow, 
From perishing tliis nigltt, 0, where canst thou go? 

Ah, there is my hay-loft, my stable, my shed; 
They '11 afford you good shelter, and a " cozy " warm bed, 
And bright in the morning, and oft through the day, 
I'll come out and greet you, but don't fly away. 

Just stay there in wglcome, and smile at the storm, 
'Till the season rolls round when 'tis every where warm ; 
When hungry or faint, come to my south door. 
And pick up the crumbs swept out from the floor. 

Then fly to my window — there on its warm sill 

You '11 find a great plenty, and can " feast to your fill," 

No one will molest you, though all gather near — 

'T is to make you more welcome, you Utile sweet dear." 

We '11 watch " pussy cat " and keep her away — 
You '11 fee quiet and safe there " the living long day," 
Then 'way to my hay-loft, my stable, or shed. 
And repose through the night in your nice little bed.' 

You're welcome — thrice welcome to all I can do. 
To feed and protect you this cold winter through; 
You are modest and plain — but no matter for that ; 
(You old Tabby — you! scat — there scat!!) 

Some birds are more gaudy and make a fine show ; 
And they sing sweetly, too, as you very well know, 
Yet no warbler's rich notes are more grateful to me, 
Than your modestly sweet chick-a-dee-dee-dee. 

The "summer birds" greet us in sunshine and spring, 
But when winter approaches they 're " away on the wing." 
An emblem of friends who cluster around. 
While honor and plenty profusely abound. 



2G8 COTTON'S KEEPSAKE. 

But when you most need them, like the " fox aiiid the hare'' 
They '11 " let the dogs at, you'' and mangle and tear. 
Nay — -join in " the chase" and cheer on your foes, 
'T is alas, but too often, that friendship thus goes. 

But like "a true friend," you "stick by'' to the last, 
And cleave closer and closer through the cold " bitter 

blast." 
Hence no warbler's rich notes are more grateful to me, 
Than your modestly sweet chick-a-dee-dee-dee. 



GENERAL JACKSON. 



It is well known to this community that I have always cher- 
ished a predilection for General Jackson, and and not a lit- 
tle enthusiastic in the estimation of many. I have never 
had the pleusure of seeing him, although I have coveted the 
sight with more solicitude, than I have to see any other man 
in our beloved country, I have, until recently, cherished a 
fond hope that my ardent desires would yet be gratified. 
But learning that he was in a precarious state of health, I, a 
short time since, abandoned the long-cherished hope, where- 
upon I wrote to him, assuring him of my attachment — that 
I asked not his influence for any office or promotion — that 
mine was in truth and sincerity the tribute of the heart. 

All that I asked or desired was a few lines in return, of his 
own autograph, that I might preserve them as a precious 
memento of him — and, if it were convenient, to enclose me a 
lock of his silvered hair ; that I should value it far above all 
price. Under date of Sept. 29, he responded to me, from the 
Hermitage, in his graphic and superior style, concluding with 
this truly melting strain. ^ 

" Agreeably to your request, with pleasure, I enclose you a 
lock of my hair. My extreme ill health prevents me from 
writing more at this time. I am unable to wield the peu 



MISCELLANEOUS. 269 

though I have made the eifort. I thank you for your kindness, 
and wishing you a long and useful life, and a blessed immor- 
tality be^^ond the grave, where through the atoning merits of 
a crucified Savior, I hope to meet you, I subscribe myself 
yours, most sincerely, Andrew Jackson." 

Any person desirous of seeing the letter and the lock of his 
venerable hair, can enjoy the pleasure at any and all times 
by calling on me at my residence. I returned the general my 
gmteful response, with the following verses appended thereto. 

A LOCK OF HAIR. 

Most honored sir, I do decLare, 
That silvered lock of your pure hair, 
Which you in answer to my prayer, 

Enclosed to me, 
Of tokens all it is most fair — 

'Tis fair as fair can be. 

Where'er in life my lot is cast, 

I '11 call to mind the anxious past — 

Your mighty acts — so many — vast. 

As on that lock T gaze; 
I '11 prize it high— I 'II hold it fast, 

'Till sighs are lost in praise. 

let us daily ask for grace, 

To run throughout the Christian race; 

Then if we see each other's face 

Not once below — 
On Zion's mount, thrice holy place, 

AVe each shall see and know. 

Sweet is the hope — the joy complete 
When anxious friends shall yonder meet, 



270 cotton's keepsake. 

And flit along the heavenly street, 
In robes of white; 

And loud hosannas shall repeat 
With pure delight. 

■ Our friends who have before us gone 
Shall join with us in the glad song; 
YeSj we shall each sing loud and long 

When all meet there. 
Your hope in Christ is full and strong — 
Heaven save you is my prayer 
A. J. Cotton. 
His excellency, Gen. Jackson. 



FAREWELL TO MAINE. 

The summer of 1839 I spent with my parents in Maine. Having 
torn myself from the embrace of all my dear friends, and the 
scenes of my childhood, I took passage on board a vessel at 
Portland, bound to Philadelphia. It is not in the power of 
language to describe what were my feelings as we gracefully 
left that beautiful port, and rounding the point some few 
leagues distant, when the beautiful bluff, contiguous to that 
fair city, vanished from my vision. The following lines I 
composed on the occasion, but they fall short, infinitely short, 
of doing justice to the deep emotions of my heart. 



! 't were worse than vain to attempt to portray 
My heart's deep emotions, as I glided away 
From the liomc of my youth and the land of my birth, 
The sweetest dear spot on this beautiful earth. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 271 

Though I am well plecased with the fertile " Far West/' 
Where fortune hath smiled, and much I 've been blest ; 
Yet try it who may, they will find it a truth — 
There is no spot so dear as the home of one's youth. 

Siceet home of my youth, I bid you " good-by," 
With a fluttering heart, a tear, and a sigh; 
Perhaps never more to behold thee again, 
Nor the many dear friends that I now leave in Maine. 

How many, alas ! that I greeted before 

Are entombed in the dust, and I see them no more; 

I mourn and I grieve o'er the ruin of Time, 

Yet a sweet mournful pleasure is assuredly mine. 

For the mountains, the plain, and the clear running brook, 
Enraptured my heart at the very first look, 
As I called up to mind the sweet scenes of past days, 
Where I oft used to gambol in juvenile plays. 

The merry sleigh-ride — our pranks on the ice, 
Where we mounted our skates, and were ofi" in a trice; 
Then I hied me to school, nor tarried to play, 
But studied my book the living long day. 

My kind little mates, whither have you all fled? 
Full many, alas ! to the land of the dead ! 
There I was first taught to love the " Good Book," 
And I bless my kind parents when in it I look. 

And each Sabbath morn I to church did repair, 

And at eve to my parents would repeat the Lord's Prayer; 

In all my far wanderings, by land or b}^ sea, 

The SAveet recollection is most precious to me. 

Sweet scenes of my childhood, how dear to my heart, 
And must I, 0! must 1 from thee ever part? 
Hold up, gallant ship, let me take one look more 
At yonder sweet bluff, my own native shore. 



272 cotton's keepsake. 

All ! she will not obey — 't is goini^ — ay, fled— • 
And entombed all my kindred, both living and dead; 
Then farewell for ever to the land of my birth, 
The sweetest dear spot on this beavitiful earth. 



NIAGARA FALLS. 



Having once visited this most sublime and romantic scenery, its 
bare mention sends the blood gushing and warm with accel- 
erated motion throughout my whole frame ; even my very 
fingers seem to tingle, while, with my "old gray goose-quill," 
I attempt to throw upon paper a few thoughts connected with 
my visit to Niagara. Pens, swung by the most masterly 
hands, under the guidance of the most vivid and fanciful 
imaginations, have utterly failed to give an adequate concep- 
tion of its greatness and its grandeur. As I drew near, and 
took my position upon "Table Rock," on the Canada shore, 
where I had, for the first time, a commanding view of the 
whole tremendous cataract at a glance, such a sensation of 
awe, amazement, and wonder I never before experienced in 
all my life. The following impromptu, which I noted down 
in my journal at the time, will but faintly describe my emo- 
tions, or paint the glowing scene. 



All-wise Jehovah ! 
On all around thy impress I behold, 
So rich, so grand, "the half can ne'er be told;" 
Here I'm entranced as if by magic power — 
For ever hallowed be this consecrated hour. 

From "Table Ptock," where thousands oft have trod, 
I view these mighty works of an Almighty God; 
The trembling earth, the dashing foam and spray, 
At once attunes my beating heart to praise and pray, 



MISCELLANEOUS. 273 

•■» 

mighty waters! how vast and how profound! 
How thrills my inmost soul, how shakes the solid ground I 
Thy snow-white foam, thy deep and whirling flood, 
Fills with delight, yet chills my warmest blood. 

The towering rocks, the clustering cedars fair, 
All seem convulsed, and tremble in the air; 
Earth's deep foundation 'twould seem had given way, 
And ushered in the last Great Judgment Day." 

But no, in a dense cloud of the ascending spray, 
" The bow of peace " its beauteous tints display ; 
At once disrobed of every gloomy thought, 
With pure ecstatic joy the M'hole is richly fraught. 

Romantic scenery ! here I, with rapturous awe, 
View nature's mighty God, and nature's perfect law ; 
And as I gaze above, below, amid thy deafening roar, 
With trembling, I thy " First Great Cause '' adore. 



N. B. — I would advise every gentleman and every lady, who 
have the means, to make a pilgrimage to this consecrated spot. 
Here one feels the littleness of all worldly achievements, and 
the vanity of pride ; and he feels too, as he never before felt, 
the personal application of that inspired saying, "Thou, God, 
seest me,'" and exclaims with one of old, " How dreadful is this 
place!" Thus is the heart made better by the contemplation 
of the wonderful work of God. But I must forbear, though I 
never can forget my visit to the "Falls of Niagara," 



274 cotton's keepsake. 



THE OHIO RIVER— IMPROVED. 

Ohio ! stream of beauty, roll thj dark-blue waters on — 
River of ages! mighty deeds have on thy shores been done; 
In former days, in other times, when forests lined thy shores, 
Thy bosom bore the " birchen bark," and felt the Indians' oars. 

And those were days of fearful times, when "Indians' war- 
whoops" rang, 

As loud above thy murmuring roar was heard the bent bow's 
twang ; 

How many scenes thy flood has washed away with " lethean 
tide"— 

How many stories could they give were silence not thy hride. 

The birds that on thy islands sing, may sing as once they sang, 
But other stranger sounds have once along thy channels rang ; 
But gone are now those days of yore when "red men" strove 

in fight — 
The "red man's" dead, or o'er the hills all, all have fled from 

sight. 

But thou, ceaseless, mighty stream, dost roll thy waters on — 
As flow'st thy tide the present time, so flowed it days agone ; 
And so the mighty " stream of time " is rolling on amain. 
And happy who, when all is o'er, " the port of heaven shall gain." 



ALBUMS. 



In my time, I have written in many albums, both original and 
selected articles, and to which I had assigned a separate de- 
partment, in which I had recorded some twenty or thirty of 
those articles for the amusement and entertainment of my 
fair young readers; but, for lack of space, I am reluctantly 
compelled to dispense with this department altogether, but 



MISCELLANEOUS. 275 

will here give two as specimens, which all ray fair readers 
may appropriate to themselves. I had also assigned a sepa- 
rate department to acrostics, scores of which I have written 
in my time; but, for the reason above assigned, I am com- 
pelled to dispense with this department, also, which I had 
largely filled np; and as I omit my own and my lady's, I 
hope my young friends will not murmur or complain. I re- 
gret the necessity which compels me to adopt this measure, 
and thus to throw away much that I had written. I will, 
however, preserve two for their novelty and originality. 
" Many in One " is an original idea with me, and I think it 
comprehensive, and, in skillful hands, beautiful. I also give 
one in prose, that all may see how easily any one can thus 
write. I often write them for little children, to please and 
encourage them ; an acrostic upon their own names is a 
great treat. My little niece is now an exceedingly fine and 
intelligent lady, and well settled in the world. But enough. 



ALB UM. — No. 1. 
DEDICATION. 

On these unsullied leaves fond ones will write 

The glowing wishes their fond hearts indite, 

And friendship's hand, with thoughts to mem'ry dear, 

Will twine "a wreath" of fadeless beauty here. 

When time shall touch thy locks and " turn them gray," 
And *' steal the rose " from thy fair cheeks away, 
Then thou wilt find thy " treasured album " lends 
Some "loved mementoes" of thy early friends. 

Sweet recollection then will come with form and visage bright, 
And bid thee linger o'er each past fond sweet delight, 
And softly touching the mystic, the electric chain, 
Will give thee back thy early days again. 

Choice be these pages then — let none here intrude 
Their "heardess compliments," or their iribiUes rude; 



276 cotton's keepsake. 

But Avith ''sweet tokens" be it for ever blest, ' 
From "cherished friends/' the truest, purest, best. 

A. J. Cotton'. 



ALBUM. — No. 2. 

You ask me, fair Miss, to write a few lines 

On this pure and polished paper; 
But wherefore, dear Miss? "Your autograph, sir!" 

Dear me ! how shall I cut such a caper ? 

Fair Miss, " my muse/' though so kind and so true 
When my heart and my fancy were young. 

Now throws me her harp, but exclaims it won't go, 
For all its sweet chords are untuned and unstrung. 

come to my rescue, " sweet aid of my muse,'' 
While on this pure sheet of unsullied white 

My name I inscribe, that my friend, if she choose. 
When I sleep with the dead, may survey with delight. 

It is done, my dear Miss, the struggle is o'er — 
In your chaste, pretty album I will scribble no more; 
May the blessing of heaven all your footsteps attend. 
Is the ivisJi and "the prayer" of your ever true friend, 

A. J. Cotton. 



N. B. — I must do myself the pleasure of recording one 
more. 

ALBUM. — No. 3. 
MEMORY CLINGS TO TIIEE. 

There's not a place where we have met, 

A favorite flower or tree, 
There^'s not a scene by thee beloved, 

That is not prized by me, 



MISCELLANEOUS. 277 

There 's not a word thy lips have Ijreathed, 

A look thine eyes have given, 
That is not shrined within niy heart 

Like a sweet dream of heaven. 

Whene'er I hear the linnet's song, 

Or woodlark's modest lay, 
Or mark upon the gorgeous west 

The "rosy clouds'' decay; 
Whene'er I catch the breath of flowers. 

Or music from the tree, 
Thought wings its flight to distant bowers, 

And memory clings to thee — my sister. 

A. J. Cotton. 



ACROSTIC— No. 1 



MANY IN ONE 



Myrtles and roses, and humming-birds, too, 

I behold with delight, indeed that I do ; 

So my fair young friends, ever cJierisJied and dear, 

Shall receive at my hands "a kind token" here. 

A bright and brilliant star, 

Like Venus in the sky, 

Liug'ring above the horizon, 

Enrapturing the eye, 

Till we are filled with visions bright, 

Turning our darkness into light. 

And all things seem a pleasing sight. 



278 cotton's keepsake. 

Echoes soft, and woman's tears, 
Like the sweet "music of the spheres," 
Inspire our hopes and quell our fears ; 
Zephyrs that float o'er earth and main, 
Are emblems fit of thy cherished name.* 

Jessamine flowers and a sister's pure love, 
Alike are most precious, and all praise above ; 
Not all the rich treasures of sea, earth and air 
Equals a fame thus spotless and fair. 

Sunbeams and rainbows, and diamonds bright, 
Are precious indeed, and beheld with delight ; 
Rejoice, my soul ! there 's a still greater treasure, 
And all may obtain and enjoy it for ever — 
Hallelujah! hallelujah! it fadeth never. 

Alleluia, alleluia, I repeat. 

Now drawing near the mercy-seat — 

Divine enjoyment, how sweet! 

An ocean of dewdrops in the moon's pure light, 
Dancing in sunbeams all shining and bright, 
Are (is) ever and always a most pleasant sight; 
Like " glittering pearls " that shine from afar, 
Is pure modest virtue, which nothing can mar; 
Nor taint it, nor tarnish the pure heartfelt bliss 
Enjoyed by all such, fair beauteous miss. 

A fond and happy sisterhood — 
Never at "outs"— all doing good; 
Gathering sweets from every flower — 
Enjoying peace from hour to hour; 
Vexatious strifes ye seldom knew — 
I know full well that this is true ; 
Now for their brows, poetic powers. 
Entwine "a wreath" of fadeless flowers. 

A. J. Cotton. 



--Poiishefl, "like a pretty flower which some grazing kid in wantonness 
had nipped." 



MISCELLANEOUS. 279 

Acrostic — No. 2. 

My dear niece — of all my numerous pupils, 
I number you among the most fond, kind, and 
Studious. Your improvement, consequently, has 
Seldom been equaled or surpassed. 

Endowed, as you are, with a good mind and heart, 
Let it ever be your aim to cultivate and 
Improve them, as you hitherto have done ; 
Zealously aim to excel in moral excellence. 
And you must succeed to great usefulness and 
Be loved, and honored, and happy. 
Every mental acquirement will strengthen 
The mind, and prepare it for still 
Higher attainments. Go on, then, 

Nor cease your efforts to "climb the hill of science," 

While youth animates, and hope cheers you on. 

I most sincerely and devoutly pray the 

Lord to pour upon you, now and ever, his 

Choicest, ricJiest blessings and his grace. 

0, Elizabeth ! I shall ever cherish your memory with 

'Xquisite pleasure, while life shall last. 

A. J. Cotton. 



N. B. I can hardly consent to omit the following: 
Acrostic. — No. 3. 

Ox the death of Henry Van Middles worth, of Aurora, who 
was fearfully mangled, and suddenly killed on the morning 
of " the glorious 4th," 1822, by the untimely discharge of 
a cannon, which he was loading. 



Hail memorable day, that called Henry 'way, 

Ended his career ; 
Near the rising of the sun, the shocking deed was done, 

Run the flowing tear: 



280 cotton's keepsake. 

You've a solemn call, that saw him thus fall, 

■■■ For death noAv prepare. 

Van Middles\yorth is gone, gone to tarry long, 

And none knows his fare ; 
Nor did he expect such a sad neglect — 

Much less did he think, 
" Independent day '' would call him away, 

Sudden as a wink. 

Dreadful ! yes, indeed, to see him fall and bleed, 

Dying in full life ; 
Leaving his children dear, to mourn and suffer here, 

Endeared to his wife ; 
She is left to mourn, he '11 no more return, 

Comfort to impart. 

What more shall we say? "Independent day" 

O'erjoys each true heart; 
Revive sweet liberty, for ever keep us free, 

To heaven our thanks rise, 
Hail! blest Washington", thy happy toil's done; 
But ours is the prize. 



Located at ^^ Moore's Hill, Dearborn Co., Ind." 



This is a splendid mansion, three lofty stories high, 
And stands upon an eminence most pleasing to the eye ; 
The rooms are fine and spacious, nor would I have them 

less. 
The railroad being just in sight, 'tis easy of access. 

The morals of the place are very J9?<re and fair. 
No gambling shops, or doggeries — not one can you find 
there ; 

* The lines beginning witli a dash are no part of the Acrostic. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 281 

The people go to Church, and to the Sabbath School, 
To "keep the Lord's Day holy," is there a standing rule. 

The mind and morals of the young are fostered with great 

care, 
If you would send abroad to learn, be sure to send right 

there ; 
" The fare '' is good and healthy, " the bills " are very low, 
I 'm often with the people, and claim the right to know. 

" The faculty "* is hard to beat in this or any State, 
The improvement of the pupils is wonderful and great ; 
The luxm-y I've oft enjoyed, of hearing them recite, — 
It filled my heart with gratitude — my soul with pure 
delight. 

I smiled and wept in turn, while hearing them perform, 
They 'd "calm the rolling billows,''' and thus "control the 

storm." 
Anon " the warring elements " would dash again in foam, 
And like " the wave-tossed mariner," you 'd almost sigh 

for home. 

But each performed his part with such exquisite skill, 
He 'd chain you to your seat, and you sit easy still ; 
The " music by the choir," and instrumental, too. 
Was, indeed, " a treat" to me, and would have been to you. 

The " declarations and essay " were ricli in " learned lore," 
The poetry was " rich as cream,'' but I must say no more ; 
*' The friends of learning " every where should patronize 

it well. 
And to the credit of the State, make this '■'fine College" 

tell. 

* Trofessorg, Adams, Curtis, and Olcott. 

24 



282 cotton's keepsake. 

" Fork over " freely, one and aZ?/' your dollars and your 

dimes ;" 
" Bread cast upon the waters/' will be gathered in after 

times ; 
Long may this Institution bless our proud, young "Hoosier 

State/' 
And here " I rest my plea," and pray, and hope, and wait. 



N. B. I commenced with " Religion," and conclude with her 
twin sister, " Literature." I here offer this sentiment, and 
pass: 

" Intelligence and Virtue," — the shield and ornament of 
of the Fair — the " life-guard " and endorseinent of the sterner sex, 
the " main pillars in the Temple of Freedom.' 



END OF POEMS. 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 



INTKODUCTION. 

I HAVE some choice Poems from a dear brother, 
niece, cousin, and friends, to which I had intended 
to treat my readers, as well as to honor and gratify 
myself; but I am absolutely coiiipelled to forego 
the pleasure. In spite of all my efforts at " re- 
trenchment " — throwing two lines into one where- 
ever admissible, and a resort to a finer type than 
was originally intended, as seen by a few of the 
first pages, my own Poems have occupied almost 
as much space as I had intended to occupy with 
my entire book. I promised only a small book — 
I wanted only a small book — because large books 
are seldom ever worth reading through, and be- 
cause the price at which I offer it will not pay for 
one of that character. But " win or lose," I must 
redeem my pledge to "give a sketch of my own 
humble life, and the incidents and history of the 
county and country for the period of time that I 
have resided in it." 

(283) 



284 cotton's keepsake. 

A mere sketch — "a bird's eye vieT\r" — under 
the circumstances, is all that I can now treat my 
readers and patrons to, in either department, lest 
my book should be utterly too voluminous for pe- 
rusal, to say nothing about the profitableness of it 
to the Author. Many who are perfectly terrified 
at the thought of having to travel over a ponder- 
ous volume in search of any kind of information, 
scientific, historical, or what not, will, peradven- 
ture, with great cheerfulness, set out upon a short 
journey to accomplish so desirable an end. Keep- 
ing this ever in mind, I have not attempted any 
thing but truth, simplicity, plainness and brevity, 
which, I think, is much better adapted to the end 
I wish to accomplish, than any " rhetorical flour- 
ishes and embellishments," which i", at least, can 
command. The mind will not thus be fatigued, 
nor the memory overcharged. And any attempt 
to impart useful information in a pleasing and easy 
manner, has claims to that praise which is the re- 
ward of good intentions. And with this the Author ' 
will be abundantly satisfied, since being serviceable 
to others is the most agreeable and sure method 
of becoming content and happy with ourselves. 

THE AUTHOR. 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 



It has been very beautifully and truthfully said, 
that '^ love of country is a sentiment natural to 
man, and common to the inhabitants of every part 
of the globe ;" and with a " Yankee " this feeling 
has the power of a strong passion. It must, how- 
ever, be admitted that " Yankee " is not always a 
passport to favor or honor; yet who ever saw a 
son of New England ashamed of his birthplace 
or his country? From every and any place under 
the arched canopy of heaven, where duty, business 
or fortune may have placed him, he turns his 
thoughts and affections to 

"The land of his birth, and the home of his youth," 

with an affection which distance can not diminish, 
nor time impair. To him, "New England" is a 
land of surpassing loveliness and beauty. If her 
skies are not deemed as bright as the " sunny 
south," in the grandeur of her mountain summits, 
the loftiness of her forest pines, her beautiful bays 
and islands, he finds enough to make his early 
home exquisitely beautiful, and lovely, and dear to 
his heart. If her " cloud-capped mountains " are 
bleak and bare, her placid lakes and ponds, her 
rivers and her brooks are swarming with trout 
and salmon, the finest of all the "finny tribes," 

(285) 



286 cotton's keepsake. 

and are located with enchanting loveliness, or flow 
through romantic vales and flowery meads. Add 
to this her proud institutions of literature and re- 
ligion, which claim the warmest afi"ection of his 
heart, and the tribute of his tongue ; so say writers, 
and so say I, experimentally, and truthfully; and, 
of course, I am proud to claim Yankeedom as my 
birthplace. Tradition sa^^s I am a descendant of 
the Rev. John Cotton, of the Plymouth Colony. 
I was born April 20th, 1800, in what is now 
known as the town of Pownal, county of Cum- 
berland, and State of Maine. I am the fourth 
of nine children — four sons and five daughters — 
all of whom are living unto this day, except a 
dear brother, next younger than myself, who was 
cast overboard in the darkness of a tempestuous 
night, and thus drowned at sea, poor fellow, as 
noticed in my poems. My ever-cherished father 
died fifteen years ago, at the age of seventy-five. 
My venerable and dear mother still survives, and 
is very smart and active, at the age of eighty-five 
years. She uses neither a staff" nor glasses. My 
parents were not members of any religious society, 
but sat under the ministry of the Presbyterian or 
Congregationalist Church. But if they had be- 
longed to fifty churches, they could scarcely have 
raised their children with more tenderness or care. 
Vulgar or profane language, cruelty to animals, 
the robbing of birds' nests, the violation of the 
holy Sabbath, were all strictly forbidden and re- 
ligiously enforced. We were all early taught the 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 287 

catechism, to repeat portions of the sacred Scrip- 
tures, to bow around the fraternal and the maternal 
knee, to fold our little hands and use our infant 
tongues and lips in prayer and praise to God. 
To this early religious training, as I have before 
said, I am indebted for all that I have that is 
really worth possessing. Perhaps I can say what 
few of my age can say — a corrupt, vulgar, blas- 
phemous, horrid oath never escaped my lips. No, 
never. And the thought is exceedingly comfort- 
ing to my heart, now that I am bound down with 
infirmity and old age. My parents were only in 
comfortable circumstances, so that my opportuni- 
ties for acquiring an early education were limited 
to the public school facilities, which afforded from 
two to three months schooling each winter; but I 
made the very best of that, being very studious 
and orderly in school, and always secured the 
approbation of my teachers; and although "the 
birch and the ferule " were in great repute and 
constant demand, never, no never, save oncej in 
all my school-boy days, was either applied to me, 
and that, too, very lightly, and for a trivial offense. 
All that I now know beyond "the rule of three" 
or proportion, of grammar, geography, natural 
philosophy, chemistry, astronomy, law, etc., I have 
acquired by hard and close application to my books, 
unaided by a teacher, since I was a married man. 
My spare dimes I have appropriated to books and 
periodicals, and rainy days and leisure moments 
in their perusal, instead of squandering them away 



288 cotton's keepsake. 

at the haunts of vice and dissipation; and the 
harvest I am noiv reaping is rich and ample, and 
full of grateful and pleasurable remembrances. 

I have before shown that I was awakened, con- 
verted, and joined the church before I was sixteen 
years of age. At a little past seventeen, I was 
*' licensed exhorter," at twenty-one a preacher, or- 
dained in 1825, and elected to elder's orders in 
1829, which relation I still retain in the church — 
*' a local elder." I believe none doubted my piety 
or my zeal from the first hour of my conversion ; 
but with many my capacity to exhort or preach 
with profit to the church, or credit to myself, was 
doubted by my best religious friends; and but for 
Joshua Randall, the circuit preacher, who, of his 
own voluntary accord, and unknown to me, "made 
the application and defended my case, I should 
not the7i^ and hard telling when, if ever, have en- 
tered the work of the ministry. In his address 
to my class, said he : ^' I have examined him 
thoroughly, and though, as you all say, he is 
very unlearned and awkward, ' the root of the 
matter is in him.' His studious habits and love 
of reading, and his great and fervent piety, will 
bring him out, and you will be astonished, if he 
lives, to see what an eloquent and efficient min- 
ister he will make. Pass him, brethren, on my 
responsibility;" and they did pass me thus, as I 
learned, for the first time, when I made my first 
visit back to Maine, after an absence of tv/elve 
long, eventful years. In some sense, I may say 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 289 

without vanity, the prediction of Brother Randall, 
my early and ever-cherished friend, and one of 
the most eminent divines in the land, has been 
realized. But how much more abundantly so 
would it have been had I early, fully, and exclu- 
sively consecrated myself and my all to the min- 
istry? From a very humble and obscure begin- 
ning, the little cefebrity I have as a minister has 
been obtained by dint of close application, of 
close observation, and close communion with God. 
What has been said of an eminent divine (so far 
as the application of means is concerned), may 
with equal emphasis and truthfulness be said of 
me. I, too, commenced preaching at the age of 
seventeen (for my exhorting was all preaching), 
such as it was, and ungainly and poor at that. 
Starting out in my ministerial career at an early 
and tender age, with such qualifications only as 
were common to all; an education which had been 
little more than commenced, under the pressure 
of many disadvantages, but turned to some little 
account by unremitted devotion to elementary 
books, and private study in leisure hours. 

With a heart and a will to go forward in the 
great work I had assumed, I felt, from the very 
first, and at every step forward in my ofiicial 
duties, that some thing beyond the ordinary food 
of the mind was necessary to prepare me for my 
pulpit duties and responsibilities; that determined 
and personal energy, application and efforts were 

absolutely and indisputably necessary to my suc- 

25 



290 cotton's keepsake. 

cess either to fame or usefulness as a minister of 
the gospel of Christ; and relying upon divine aid, 
I did and have applied myself accordingly, as 
know all my intimate friends. Without guide or 
model, I have projected and explored my own 
pathway; have aped no man; but, from beginning 
to end, have been my original self, in the pulpit, 
as in all the other duties and relations of life. 
With inexplicable yearnings to learn and to know 
the means and expedients that I have been driven 
to, as the only possible condition of ability and 
usefulness as a minister and as a man, can, per- 
haps, be readily imagined, but it can not be fully 
expressed by me, or by my friends for me. 
Yielding to the yearnings of my heart to be both 
good and useful, I appropriated all within my 
reach to my special aid and benefit. Reading, 
writing, reflection, observation and experience, all 
the energies of body and mind, were invoked and 
applied to for light and guidance. 

The midnight lamp has often found me at my 
books. Thought demanded materials, and ends 
exacted means. Without constant effort for men- 
tal growth and enlargement, all chance or hope 
of success was forever foreclosed. Such were the 
circumstances of ignorance and want, and trial 
under which I commenced my ministerial career, 
and during which time I must have pronounced 
at least some three or four thousand sermons. 
And, although I have much to regret that my 
sermons have not been more eloquent, more 



ATJTOBIOGKAPHT. 291 

efficient for good, I rejoice that they have, in 
some sense, been serviceable and acceptable to 
the church, and that I never have knowingly 
trifled with myself, with my high and holy mis- 
sion, by turning it to worldly advantage, or to 
tickle or please the fancies of others. I have 
rather sacrificed all my worldly hopes and aspira- 
tions, that I might "make full proof of my min- 
istry," and " finish my course with joy." I have 
not "lied to the Holy Ghost" to please any man 
or set of men, for personal effect. I am not con- 
scious of any ambition or aspiration unworthy the 
high mission of "an ambassador of the Cross of 
Christ." But feeble and inefficient as they have 
been, they have been my very best efforts, under 
all the circumstances; and I have often been 
exceedingly happy and joyful in their perform- 
ance. In " breaking the Bread of Life " to 
others, my own soul has feasted upon the heav- 
enly repast, and I often made to " rejoice with 
joy unspeakable and full of glory." So much, 
then, for my ministerial career, which is, in all 
human probability, about being wound up and 
closed for ever. And I am cheered with the hope 
that I shall be able to render an account of my 
stewardship with joy and not with grief, through 
mercy rich and free. 

My recollection runs back distinctly to an occur- 
rence that took place when I was only two and a 
half years old. I had strolled away into the 
"woods and became lost, and quite a search was 



292 cotton's keepsake. 

made for me, and I now see my cherished father 
as he approached me and clasped me in his arms, 
and I feel the warm and almost suffocating kisses 
of my mother, my poor distracted mother, when I 
was returned to her all safe and sound, after seve- 
ral hours of painful solicitude and suspense. It is 
now as vivid and fresh to my mind as an occur- 
rence of yesterday. I have also an indistinct 
recollection of an incident that occurred, perchance, 
a little before that time, and to introduce it, I will 
say, that my good mamma says, that although ^' fat 
and hearty as a pig," I cried more in infancy 
than all her other eight children put together; 
that I literally bawled both " day and night," 
when, for the life of her, she could discover 
nothing to cry for. Of course, she thought me 
hardly worth raising, and let me bawl it out, as 
bawl I would. Well, on a time, I went into the 
room all alone, took up a small pair of tongs tl at 
had fallen into the fire, and contrived to get them 
astride of my neck — the sizzling and frying opera- 
tion soon commenced, and then I, as usual, com- 
menced bawling ; but then it was the old tune, 
and my mamma let me sing away. At last she 
thought that there was a little more emi^hasis than 
common, and concluded to look after me, when, 
lo ! she beheld my sad predicament, with two large 
blisters on each side of my neck. She exclaimed, 
"You little sweet dear, you are crying for some- 
thing this time," and nearly smothered me with her 
kisses. Hope sprung up in her h^art. I had given 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 293 

evidence of some little sense, at any rate, and she 
thought that, perchance, I might be worth raising 
after all. And, sure enough, only see what a 
man I have made of myself from so unpromising 
a beginning. Wonderful ! ! ! I now tell my mam- 
ma that I suppose my intention was to laugh 
instead of to cry, but that I did n't know how 
The tongs, however, set me right, and from that 
day up to my present illness, I have laughed 
more than any other man of my size in my palmiest 
days, and that is saying much. "Laugh and be 
fat," has been verified in me to the very letter. 
''Despise not the day of small things," for be- 
hold what a great man a little boy w^ill make, 
sometimes. 

The embargo times, and the war times of 1812 
are still fresh upon my mind. Preparatory to the 
war was the embargo act to call in our own ves- 
sels, and to keep our money and our means at 
home. Our privations, of course, w^ere many and 
exceedingly severe. We used pumpkin and sugar- 
tree molasses, sage and many other domestic teas, 
carrot, pea, and rye co^qq, -sklmost exclusively. 
Our mothers submitted to it without a murmur, 
because the rights of the country required the 
sacrifice. We paid from |1.75 to $2.00 per 
bushel for corn, and from $14 to $18 per barrel 
for flour, and hauled cordwood from eight to 
twenty miles for $1.50 to $2.00 per cord. I 
drove a team with wood many a day and night 
at those rates. We would start for Portland, a 



294 cotton's keepsake. 

distance of twenty miles, at sunset, drive all night, 
and get into market at early dawn or sunrise, and 
if we met with a ready sale, home at early bed- 
time in the winter; otherwise, at a very late or 
rather early hour on the next morning. I have 
been so overcome with fatigue, and cold and 
broken rest, that I have dropped my knife and 
fork a dozen times while eating my supper, my 
good mamma standing by me all the time to cheer, 
and comfort and feed me. I have traveled many 
a mile in a profound sleep by the side of my 
oxen, got hold of the bow, lost myself, woke up 
and found myself at least a mile ahead, and all 
this for a mere pittance, hardly enough to "keep 
soul and body together." Then a naked crust of 
bread was sweeter than the richest bridal cake I 
ever tasted, and that is saying a great deal. 
Year after year the early frosts cut off our crops, 
and we had to depend upon southern corn, which 
we had thus laboriously to obtain. Talk about 
hard times, whosoever may, we do n't know here 
in the west at this time, the first single letter in 
"the hard times alphabet." These reminiscences 
bring tears of gratitude to my eyes at this moment. 
And but for the benefit of the seaboard and her 
inexha.ustible fisheries, I see not how we could 
have possibly survived total starvation. Our coun- 
try, however, produced potatoes, peas, beans, and 
garden vegetables in a fair abundance, and we 
were able, by a great deal of hard labor and 
economy, to keep up a fair dairy, and sheep to 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 295 

furnish us the materials for winter apparel, which 
our mothers and sisters carded by hand, and spun 
and wove at home. 

The music of the spinning-wheel, 
The shuttle and the loom, 

greeted us from early dawn till nine or ten o'clock 
at night. I fancy I see — I hear it now, and I am 
young again — back to the days of youth and child- 
hood — back to the dear parental hearth — parental 
care and protection, and the fanciful contemplation 
is mournfully sweet to my heart. 

But the embargo times were succeeded by others 
more severe and trying. Our husbands, sons, and 
brothers, either by "drafts" or "enlistments," 
were torn from home to meet death, perhaps, 

On the field of battle, 
Where blood and carnage clothe the ground in crimson, 
Sounding with death-groans. 

I shall never forget the time when an express was 
sent into my neighborhood, post-haste, one sabbath 
afternoon, for a draft of so many to be made, forth- 
with, and to be at Portland on the next day, " armed 
and equipped for military duty." The British fleet 
lay off in sight, and an attack upon the beautiful 
city of Portland was reasonably anticipated. That 
was a time that tried men's souls. Some responded 
to the draft cheerfully, and seemed eager for the 
fight. Others ingloriously paid almost any price 
for a substitute. And my lady's brother, Benja- 
min, at a good round price, took the place of one 
less courageous and less patriotic, perhaps, though 



296 cotton's keepsake. 

it must be admitted that circumstances alter cases. 
If ever I longed to be a man, it was then, when I 
was hardly thirteen years of age. Bright and 
early on Monday morning, our brave boys bade a 
hasty adieu to home and friends, and amid tears 
and blessings took up the line of march for the 
post of danger and death, to defend their common 
country or die in her common cause. But so it 
was, after lying off in sight for some time, and no 
doubt, by some means or signals, ascertaining that 
we were ready to give them a warm reception, 
they abandoned the intended expedition, and hauled 
off to other fields of operation, and many of our 
valorous men returned home after an absence of 
several weeks, vexed that they had missed a fight. 
I more than once visited what is called Portland 
Neck or Promontory, when its forts and barracks 
were swarming with men "with nodding plumes 
and coats of uniform.'^ I hear their drums and 
fifes, I see their then marshal tread and evolutions, 
and catch the glowing enthusiasm, while thus I 
write, as in the days " Lang Syne." 

The Enterprise and Boxer were brought into 
Portland harbor, and I went on board and saw 
both in a somewhat shattered condition, splintered 
and battered by the molten messengers of "death 
and destruction." Two gallant English tars were 
quartered at a friend's of mine ; one with his leg 
amputated close to the bod}'', another with a grape- 
shot lodged in the cavity of his bowels, which 
could not be reached or safely extracted. Every 



AUTOBIOGRAPHr.^ 297 

possible attention and kindness was paid to them 
that humanity and skill could suggest. And I 
asked myself then, and ask every body noio, why 
should those men be so mutilated and put to so 
much pain, when, as men, we had nothing against 
them or they against us? And, as before asked, 
Why could not Nations, as "v^ell as States, settle 
matters of dispute by "a legally constituted civil 
tribunal ? " Echo, with its wonted impertinence, 
as if to mock the all-important inquiry, answers 
back — why ? 

When the startling intelligence swept over the 
land, that the city of Washington, the Capitol of 
the Nation, was taken and pillaged, " the hearts 
of patriots died within them." I could name many 
that I now see in my mind's eye, as they mourn- 
fully walked the street, or, gathering together in 
little groups, to counsel each other upon the sad 
and disheartening intelligence. I recollect, too, 
some of the anti-war men, who seemed to exult 
that they were not committed. And with great 
complacency, as though they were sages and Solo- 
mons, they would, with seeming delight, " cast into 
their teeth," I told you so. Many a wakeful, rest- 
less night have I spent, dreading the consequences, 
wishing that I had the power to avenge and save 
my country, and praying God to interpose in our 
behalf. And when I learned that the next attack 
would, in all probability, be made upon New Or- 
leans, and General Jackson had charge of her 
defense ; every night at my youthful prayers, (for 



298 cotton's keepsake. 

I was taught never to close my eyes m sleep with- 
out prayer,) yes every night I prayed for General 
Jackson, of whom I knew nothing up to this time. 
Every patriot eye was turned in that direction, 
and New Orleans was the engrossing theme of 
thought, of conversation, and of inquiry. Between 
five and six weeks a^'ter the battle of New Orleans, 
the glad, the overwhelmingly joyful news was 
heralded through Maine by government expresses 
on horseback. Put your horse through at the top 
of his speed, as far as he can go, and then turn 
him out and mount another. " Uncle Sam " will 
foot the bill, seemed to be the instruction. Intelli- 
gence on a joyful theme like this could not be 
disseminated through the land in less than five or 
six weeks ! Now it can be done in about as many 
seconds of time ! ! ! What an age of improvement 
and progress truly. 

The joyful intelligence from New Orleans reached 
me thus. I was at school, about one mile from 
home, and about the middle of the afternoon, 
Josiah Walker, a dear cousin of mine hove in 
sight, on his return from Portland, with his oxen 
and sled, a handkerchief tied to the top of a long 
stake, old '' star and bright" going it at the speed 
of " double quick time," and he proclaiming at 
the top of his voice every few minutes, " General 
Jackson has whipped the British ! General Jack- 
son has whipped the British ! !" The whole school 
was perfectly electrified, my own heart beat quick 
and free, the teacher ran out to make inquiry, and 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 299 

learned that an express of that kind had just been 
received at Portland. On went Josiah, and in came 
the teacher, announced the joyful news, and turned 
us all out in a hurry ! and such another scamper- 
ing I never saw. "Without stop or let" I has- 
tened home at the top of my speed, and nearly out 
of breath, I burst open the parental door, and ex- 
claimed most unceremoniously, as best I could, 
General Jackson has whipped the British ! General 
Jackson has whipped the British ! ! 0, I was per- 
fectly frantic with delight ; almost too happy to 
live ; and recounting the scene I weep too much 
to write, and must pause to give vent to my feel- 
ings, pay a tearful tribute to the past, and a grate- 
ful one to the God of nations as well as of men. 

Such a meeting together of patriots, such re- 
joicings I never before, or never since, saw or 
heard. The valleys and the mountains echoed 
back joy and thanksgiving and praise in every 
direction. And from that day to this, no living 
man ever occupied so large and so warm a seat 
in my aifections as a military or political man as 
General Jackson. This is the key that unlocks 
(what once seemed a mystery to many) my devo- 
tion to General Jackson. Mine too was a reason- 
able devotion, as all the good and great every- 
where now respect and venerate his memory, and 
approve his general policy. Peace to his quiet 
dust and immortality to his memory, and justice 
and truth, and freedom^ and prosperity, and per- 
petuity to the interests and institutions of our 



300 



common, our beloved, our heaven-favored coun- 
try. 

The proclamation of peace sent a thrill of joy 
to every patriot heart. Bonfires and the mutter- 
ing roar of cannon were seen and heard all over 
the land, and I, perhaps, the happiest boy on the 
globe. I could n't keep still nor refrain from 
expressions of infant or youthful enthusiasm. I 
have seen and felt much in my time of suffering, 
privation, and hardship, that the young of these 
days are strangers to, and probably ever will be. 
I hope they will. May the tocsin of war never 
more be heard in the land, and the time speedily 
come when " swords shall be beaten into plow- 
shares," and "the nations shall learn war no 
more." I would fain linger here. I could write 
a whole volume; but a sketch must suffice, and I 
pass. 

At the age of sixteen, while attempting to put 
a very large, heavy log of wood into my cart, to 
haul to market, I felt something give way in my 
stomach. My log I let go, sat down upon it 
quite faint, recovered a little, loaded up with light 
wood, went to North Yarmouth, a distance of eight 
miles, returned home very sore and sick, and was 
laid up for the season, spit blood profusely from 
time to time, for a long season, and, in fact, never 
fully recovered from it, and never shall. I have 
suffered much but complained little on that score. 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 301 



And now, boys, for that bear story, which I have prom- 
ised to some of you. At the age of about fourteen years, 
I was sent down east, as we called it, as far as the Sandy 
river, a distance of some sixty odd miles. I started off, 
**a-foot and alone." The evening of the second day, at 
sunset, found me within eight or ten miles of my journey's 
end. Somewhat weary, but full of ambition, I was resolved 
to reach my uncle's before I went to rest. I knew, how- 
ever, that I had a long dreary piece of woods to pass 
through, without an inhabitant for some four or five miles. 
A part of the way a pond lay on either side of the road, 
and all the way through a thicket of pines. I entered it 
just at dusk of evening, with a new moon some two or 
three hours high, and shining brightly, with here and 
there a fleecy cloud, and gentle zephyrs murmuring in the 
tree-tops. A little boy, all alone, and far from home, and 
in a land noted for white-faced bears, which were often 
seen and often killed, it may well be supposed that I 
plunged into this gloomy recess wnth a palpitating heart. 
But manning up my courage, I dashed on, seeing strange 
sights and hearing strange sounds from the forest and the 
ponds. I had got on full half the way through, when I 
was "brought up all standing," with a great big white- 
faced bear just ahead of me, and close beside the road. I 
first thought to "take the back track" with all possible 
speed, but a second thought admonished me that I could 
not possibly escape thus that distance by flight, and to 
halloo would be useless, and, in truth, I was too much 
frightened to halloo; and there I stood transfixed, with up- 
lifted hands, and with my staring eyeballs nearly popping 
out of their sockets. And now it made a move ; my blood 
froze in my veins. I must do some thing, and that right 
soon. I finally concluded that if I had to run, I would 
run the right way; and as the bear was just on one side 
of the road, I would take the other, and try and pass him, 



302 cotton's keepsake. 

and thought, peradventure, at an even race, I might save 
my distance — that was my only hope. Only think, two 
days' travel from home, alone in a dark and lonely forest, 
out of sight and out of hearing of every living mortal, 
save Him who sees and hears all things. It moves again, 
and with my heart in my mouth, I moved, too, and dashed 
ahead, with my eyes riveted upon the object of terror that 
had thus beset me; and as I got just opposite, or a little 
turned past, I saw it clearly, just in the attitude of — a big 
pine-stump! burned all over, except a little on the side 
toward the moon, which made *' a great big bear with a 
white face/' The moving was a pine bough waving in 
the breeze, and standing between me and the stump. I 
ventured up, and scanned all the premises carefully, after 
the Rubicon was passed. I laughed and I wept, and with 
gratitude to God, I set out afresh to complete my journey, 
which I accomplished, safe and sound, before bedtime. 
Receiving a warm greeting and a warm supper^ I was 
soon in a warm bed, and at rest in soft and peaceful 
slumbers. Now, boys, ain't that a considerable of a bear 
story after all? I laughed when I got through with it, 
and so may you, for it is truly laughahle. 

Before I farther proceed, I will record another little oc- 
currence in my life, simple though it be. I had found the 
drumming log of a partridge (as we call them) upon the 
mountain, which I have before noticed as constituting a 
part of my father's farm. I prevailed upon my kind good 
father to let me go and try to shoot it, when I was quite 
young. So loading his fowling-piece, he explained all 
things to me in reference to taking aim, etc., for I had 
never once shot at a mark. With a bounding heart, I set 
out to climb the mountain early in the morning. I found 
that my bird was drumming again, and with great caution 
I approached within shooting distance, behind the covert 
of a large tree, and there stood the bird, which had got 
sight of me, and just as he was about to jump off the log, 
hang went my gun, and down fell my bird with a deadly 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 303 

shot ; and the way I gathered it up, and hastened home, 
is no one's particular business except my own. General 
Jackson at New Orleans, or General Taylor at Buena 
Vista, or General Scott at Vera Cruz or the City of 
Mexico, did not feel to be a greater general than I did 
when I shot and took my first partridge. There is not 
one scene in my whole life that I remember with more 
distinctness or livelier emotions. How these early impres- 
sions cling to the mind; and with what a proud step I 
entered my home, with my bird in my hand, may be im- 
agined, but can not be expressed. I took the second in 
the same triumphant manner. The third I missed, and 
if I had lost an empire, I could scarcely have felt more 
crest-fallen, chagrined and vexed than I did then. I felt 
as though I could crawl through a half-inch augur-hole, 
as the saying is, or that I was attenuated to a point and 
cut off; and, from that day to this, I have learned that no 
earthly bliss is abiding; but, as the old pump-handle said, 
*' there are a great many ups and downs in life/^ 



A NIGHT WITH A PANTHER. 

In the years of 1S16, ^17 and '18, what was then called 
the "Ohio Fever," prevailed, to a very great extent through- 
out the Eastern States, especially in the State of Maine, 
my own natal State. And many, during these years, sold 
out their possessions, bade adieu to their weeping friends 
and " the scenes of youth and childhood," and emigrated 
to the then "far west." In the fall of 1817, fifteen families 
from about one neighborhood, and eleven of them, with 
ten wagons and twenty-four horses, and seventy-eight souls, 
started off together from Cumberland county, in one day. 
It was a great move, and excited the curiosity of the 
country through which they passed; they were spoken of 
as the great "land fleet." Their route was through the 
beautiful city of Portland, Haverhill, to Albany, thence up 



304 cotton's keepsake. 

the fertile valley of the Mohawk, thence across to Olean 
Point, on the head-waters of the Alleghany, thence down 
the river, in boats and on rafts, to Pittsburg, thence down 
the beautiful Ohio to Lawrenceburg, in Indiana, where 
they cast anchor, cabled up, and sought each a resting- 
place and a home in the then wilds of the west; and most 
of them located on what was then called Green Brier 
Ridge, now known as the pleasant village of Manchester; 
among whom was the Rev. Daniel Plummer, so favorably 
and extensively known. 

In the fall of 1818, the writer emigrated ''westward ho!'' 
Sailed from Portland to the monumental city (Baltimore), 
thence across the mountains to Pittsburg, thence down the 
Ohio to the abode of his old friends and acquaintances, 
(more than two months' journey — it may now be traveled 
in three days,) found them all well, received a cordial wel- 
come, and verily a happy meeting it was. 

Shortly after, he was married, according to the Good 
Book; for he most emphatically "left father and mother" 
(dear and revered names), and clove unto her to whom he 
was affianced; reared him a cabin, and settled in the woods. 
All was one vast unbroken wilderness around him, save 
here and there a little cabin and a small opening, the 
labor of the new-comers the previous year. These M'ere 
scattered about on what was then Green Brier, as before 
observed ; so called by hunters, because of the prevalence 
of a brier of that color that abounded in the forest. My 
cabin was far removed from any other habitation, " solitary 
and alone," at first. I had bushed out a wagon-track, as 
we call it, and had, also, "blazed" a foot-path, a "nearer 
cut" to the settlement. My mind reverts with an inde- 
scribable emotion to that period of my life. Many is the 
time and oft that I have entered this dismal and solitary 
homeward path, when, for a good part of the way, it was 
so dark that I could not see my hand to save me — was 
compelled to feel out the path with my feet ; with my heart 
in my mouth, my hair well nigh erect, and my blood nearly 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 305 

curdled, for the prowling wolves were about my path, and 
had often raised their hideous yells in my very door-yard. 
Indian habitations and tragedies, fresh upon the mind, in 
this dark solitude, and lost in these dark meditations, when 
all of a sudden off would bound some thing with an unfa- 
miliar tread, and then a hideous yell of wah-wah-wah-wah, 
ho-ho-ho-ho. The shock over, you would feel thankful to 
find your scalp safe, and that the causes of your affright 
was the bounding of the affrighted deer, and the night-owl, 
" in hoarser harmony," tuning its vesper notes of praise. 

Onward you would wend your dubious way, until your 
ear would catch the unearthly melody of a familiar " hoo- 
hoo," which your anxious and lonely wife would, ever and 
anon, send over the dark forest, to cheer your heart and 
direct your steps. Reader, this is no fanciful sketch. 
Often have I heard that welcome sound, compared to 
which the music of Orpheus and the mellow notes of the 
-(Eolian harp would be grating discords. As you came 
near home, you would see a brisk light, and your wife 
standing in the door, as if to penetrate the gloom to get a 
glimpse of you. At your approach, she would fly to meet 
you at the bars, and greet you with, " My dear, are you 
come? I have been so alarmed for you; the wolves have 
been howling back here ever since dark. 0! I am so glad 
that you have arrived safely." As you enter your neat 
cabin-home, you find supper has been long waiting ; your 
little boy asleep, whom you kiss again and again ; then 
you give thanks and eat; and after prayers, retire to rest, 
and after telling many a long yarn, and recounting the 
mercies of God, you fall asleep in the kind embrace of 
Morpheus, and your rest is sweet. 

Sometimes, as you were going through the woods with 
a hickory torch, you would frighten all the beasts and 
birds along your track, and they, in turn, would frighten 
you. I remember, as though it were yesterday, that when 
coming home through a by-path, with a torch in my hand, 
that cast a dark circle all , around me amid the green 



306 cotton's keepsake. 

foliage, when all of a sudden I beheld two flaming balls 
of fire, that looked frightful indeed. What could it be? 
They moved, they disappeared ; with a kind of snort and 
a bound it passed off, and came upon you in another 
direction, and then the same blazing balls of fire were 
staring you full in the face. I tell you, reader, it would 
bring one unaccustomed to a forest life " all up standing.-" 
Conjecture was baflled, and all I had to do was to trust in 
God and go ahead. It soon left me, and I passed on to 
receive another cordial welcome home, with abundant 
matter of conjecture, and for an hour's chat. It was evi- 
dently a deer, as I afterward learned. Hunters sometimes 
kill them in that way; it was called "firing deer;'' their 
glaring e3^eballs reflect the light in this manner. The 
hunters took many of them, and wild-turkeys in abun- 
dance. AVell, notwithstanding I was unaccustomed to a 
forest life, and was often put up to all I knew to get along 
with the strange sights and sounds that accosted me, yet 
many a time and often have I left my bed at midnight, 
and gone far out into the woods, to relieve my faithful 
Jowler, when he would raise the yell, to let me know that 
he had some thing treed. If it was on a sapling, I was 
sure it was only an opossum ; I would fell it, and Jowler 
was ready for him. If on a large tree, I was sure it was 
a coon; Avould strike up a fire, and wait till morning, 
when one, two or three coons were sure to be taken. 
Jowler never missed fire, though I often shot wide of the 
mark. Those, after all, were happy days; and, indeed, 
there is some thing so fiiscinating and romantic in the life 
of a backwoodsman, that I often sigh for those days again. 
But I must forbear, and hasten to my story. 

About the middle of Nov., 1822, more than thirty-five 
years ago, I and my lady, with our only child, a little son 
about two years old, had been to Mrs. C.'s father's, and 
had tarried until 8 or 9 o'clock in the evening, when we 
started home, about a mile in the unbroken forest. The 
moon was shining beautifully, about an hour and a half 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 307 

high — a few fleecy clouds were floating gracefully in the 
heavens — the moaniugs of the night winds as they gently 
murmured through the tall tree-tops, the rustling of the 
sere and falling leaves, the shadowing of the silver queen 
of night as she was gently sinking to rest, and the deep 
solitude that surrounded us, cast a kind of pleasing melan- 
choly around our homeward path. Still we were happy, 
and were beguiling the moments with some agreeable chat, 
when all of a sudden Mrs. C. cried out, "my dear, there's 
a wolf!" Just at that moment, my eye caught the object, 
some four or five yards to my right, in an old tree-top, 
covered with green briers. I had just passed a large tree 
that stood on the edge of the path. I stepped back in a 
moment, and Mrs. C. coming up, we stood behind it to- 
gether, and hy side glances endeavored to ascertain what 
kind of a customer we had. I discovered some animal in 
a crouching position, but the deep shade that enveloped 
him, and my own excited feelings were such that I could 
arrive at no satisfactory conclusion. In a moment or two 
he squatted flat upon the ground. I tried to hope that it 
was Jowler that had come out to meet us. Mrs. C. said 
no ; fearful to have him approach even if it were him, I 
ordered him home again and again ; but it was " all no go.'' 
" You are right, my dear," said I, " it is not Jowler, sure 
enough, and we must do something soon, or the moon will 
be down, and we left entirely in the dark. Now do you 
take bub and go a44(^d, and I will stand here and keep 
the animal's attention on me, and when you get a good 
start I will then follow, and if I shall be devoured, better 
one perish than all. Take good care of yourself and bub, 
and meet me in heaven, for if it is God's will to call me 
hence, I feel through mercy that I am not altogether dis- 
qualified or unwilling to go. 

" Do you think that I would leave you here alone to be 
devoured by wolves? No, never," said Mrs. C. "I can 
never do that; I will stay by you be the result what it 



308 cotton's keepsake. 

All the remonstrances were vain, and I gave it up. She 
wished me to throw the animal a bit of fresh meat which 
we were taking along for breakfast, and then immediately 
start. I had many objections to this, but told her to start 
with bub and I would stand between them and harm, and 
if the animal followed I would throw it to him and we 
would escape for life. It was a critical moment, but we 
finally mustered fortitude to start ; my eyes nearly popping 
out of their sockets, being so intensely fixed upon my un- 
welcome guest. I fancied I saw him move as we set forth, 
my hair seemed to stand erect ; my blood to curdle in my 
veins as I almost fancied his fangs upon me. But no ! 
there he lay until we had gained the distance of a rod or 
more, then turning my eye away, we " put out in double 
quick time," for our lone cottage in the wilderness, some 
half a mile ofi". We had not gone far when we heard him 
trotting on the leaves, taking a cross cut toward the house. 

" It must be Jowler," said I, " but let us hasten." When, 
however, we arrived at the bars, Jowler came out of his 
kennel, and bade us welcome home, and happy indeed were 
we to be there all safe and sound. As we entered Jowler 
went in with us. We had hardly seated ourselves and 
were with gratitude talking of our wonderful escape, and 
nearly smothering our little babe with kisses., not having 
yet struck up a light, when Jowler began to sniff, and 
going to the door raised a portentous growl. I suddenly 
opened the door, when lo ! there sat, on the door-step, the 
cause of our affright, and made a bound to enter. I caught 
him and Jowler between the door and both went out to- 
gether. After a short scuffle Jowler played off, and my 
friend came and sat down again upon the door-step. 

The moon had about gone down, and having what we 
called in those days, a " stoop " over the door, I could not 
yet determine what it was, but concluded that I had had 
enough of him for once — that I would try and give him 
his walking paper; and having neither axe or rifle at hand, 
I took the fire-pole, opened the door a little — Mrs Cotton 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 309 

held it. I thrust out the fire-pole — a small hand-spike — 
and brought down, full tilt upon his pate, a fair lick that 
would well nigh have felled a beef He tumbled over, 
without the least outcry, not even thanking me for my 
striking attachment ; picked himself up in a moment, and 
bounded over the fence like a dart, and Jowler after him, 
but he soon returned without treeing him, or coming in 
contact with him. 

What it was, I could not contrive. I was now satisfied 
that it was no wolf, and a panther had not once entered 
my imagination, and well that it had not. After return- 
ing thanksgiving and praise to our unseen but kind de- 
liverer, we went to rest, and our slumbers were sweet as 
our rude home was lovely and pleasant. In the morning, 
I went to an old woodsman residing some distance off, to 
report the case and ask for information. 

" Why," he said, " it was a panther. He had scented 
your fresh meat, and had waylaid your path. He was 
just in the act of bounding upon you when you discovered 
him. Your timely discovery and the tree baffled him. He 
intended to have waylaid you again, and would have done 
it if you had given him time. No light being in the house, 
he was intent to follow. There are panthers about — I have 
heard them. It is a wonderful escape that you have made, 
truly." 

And then I recollected all the panther stories I had ever 
read, and saw them all verified to the letter, in the manoeu- 
Vering of my " unknown guest." And at the recognition, 
my blood chilled again, and I adored the hallowed name of 
my great deliverer, who, for wise, and great and good pur- 
poses, mercifully preserved me, perhaps to proclaim salva- 
tion to the sons of men, and to take part in the great and 
glorious Temperance enterprise; and I trust, in that par- 
ticular, that I have not been spared in vain. 

Be that as it may, I and my good lady still survive. My 
son, my dear lamented son, died several years ago, leaving 
his second wife and three children behind him. Two other 



310 cotton's keepsake. 

little sons and our only daughter, and the sweetest one 
that ever blessed a parent, sleep beside him in the peace- 
ful grave- Our only surviving child is a son, married and 
settled in Illinois. I incidentally note these things here. 
Jowler, poor felloM'-, my faithful, trusty friend, came to a 
tragical end many long years ago. 0, what changes have 
occurred since that fearful night I The howling wilder- 
ness has become as the garden of God. Fine farms, and 
orchards, and mansions, and school houses, and seminaries, 
and colleges, and churches, and turnpikes, and canals, and 
railroads, and telegraphs surround me on every side. (See 
my Forest Ode.) And I am now writing this sketch within 
one mile of the spot where I was beset with that panther, 
which I might have killed, and, no doubt, should, had I not 
been under the impression that it was old father Mead's 
yellow dog that had become lost. In a forest life, " Love 
me love my dog,'' is true to the letter. The real panther 
or his mate was shortly beheld sunning himself in the 
lofty tree tops, by one of my neighbors, when, quick as 
thought his rifle was at his shoulder, his eye darting along 
the iron tube of death. The leaden messenger summoned 
him to surrender forthwith, which was instantly responded 
to, and he was borne off in triumph, as others had been 
before him. This one, however, appeared to be " what 
the shoemaker threw at his wife," as we neitber saw nor 
heard anything more about panthers in the neighborhood 
after that. 

Tender and thrilling recollections of the past eome rush- 
ing back upon me as thus I write, and admonish me that 
life is short and uncertain — that this earth is not my 
home, nor would I have it be. And oh ! forbid it heaven, 
that this beautiful world should be any the worse off for 
my having been in it. But I must forbear, with gratitude 
to God, and with a thrilling and abiding interest, do I 
cherish the remembrance of 

" The night I spent with a panther." 

Reader — my unvarnished and simple story is told — 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 311 

truth, every word truth. And here for the present I take 
my leave of you, and hasten to my prayers and repose. 
Good night children, and happy dreams to you all. 

Presuming that the reader, like myself, feels much re- 
freshed, I ask him to go back with me to old Maine, once 
more, to see if I was not a little extra in youth, if not in 
old age. 

When father Noyes, that sainted, good man, had sold 
out, in order to accompany his fiivorite minister, the Rev. 
Daniel Plummer and others to the then " Far West," I, of 
course, was only seventeen years of age, and utterly too 
young ordinarily to think about getting married. But our 
families were on terms of intimacy, and his daughter too 
bright a jewel in my estimation, to be lost without an 
effort, and as she was about to be removed to what then 
appeared to be the uttermost verge of civilization, if not 
the very "jumping off place," I thought, and thought 
cc-rectly, too, that what I did I must do quickly; it was 
with me 7iow or never. So, after mature deliberation, I 
sought a favorable opportunity, and, with suitable apolo- 
gies, introduced the subject to my lady-love, and then 
postponed the matter for mutual deliberation. My suit 
having met with a favorable reception, I thought myself 
fortunate and happy beyond description. But then there 
were difficulties still in my pathway, to be surmounted or 
removed, before my golden dreams could be realized. I 
was quite young — several years before I should be of age — • 
and then, perchance, her family might be opposed to the 
arrangement, even if I should ever be able to find her 
again. I knew that at the proper time, and under proper 
circumstances, mine could not possibly be better pleased. 
But how now I could not say. And that I might not 
make a fool of myself, nor disappoint my fair friend, I 
determined at once to know "just how the land lay," in 
every direction. So I first took my good mamma and father 
aside, and opened my heart and affairs to them, offering 
as an apology for my early move, that it was now or 



312 cotton's keepsake. ' 

never. And that, if they assented to the arrangement, I 
■wanted them to let me follow her " out west," the next 
year. To my great joy, I found it all right in that direc- 
tion. I then named the thing to father and mother Noyes, 
told them I was too young to talk about such things, but 
that circumstances altered cases ; that they were going far 
away, and I did not want to build up false hopes. And 
I had the unspeakable pleasure to find it all right in that 
direction ; so that the entire coast was now clear. Nay, 
more, father Noyes offered, with the consent of my parents, 
to take me along and use me in all things as one of the 
family until I chose to set up for myself But, being in 
poor health from my injured breast, and desirous of a 
little more schooling, I chose to tarry behind for at least 
one year; and if that wasn't a long year to me, "I 
wouldn't say it," 'pon honor. But the year wore away at 
last, the 20th of September arrived, and I bade parents 
and friends, and home farewell — a little past the age of 
eighteen years — and, all alone, started for the object of my 
affection and hope. As before stated, sailed from Portland 
to Baltimore, crossed the mountains " afoot and alone," to 
Pittsburg, got on board a family boat (for there were no 
steamboats then to be relied upon) and by several changes 
from one boat to another, I at last found myself safely 
landed at Lawrenceburgh, on the 10th of December, 1818, 
a journey of almost three months time, which appeared 
to me almost an age. My friends out west being advised 
of the time of my departure, had abandoned me for lost, 
nearly. It can be traveled over now in two days. My 
safe arrival was gi-eeted with a hearty welcome by the old 
folks, and as to the balance it may be guessed at. Suffice 
it to say, that I was shortly after married, and before I 
"^ras nineteen years of age. And in little more than a year 
after that, we were blessed with the little son we had with 
us when we were beset by that panther. Now what young 
man can boast of a greater adventure than my marriage 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 313 

arranc^ement, or to do it up in a more manly or business- 
like manner? 

My whole history has been odd and peculiar, like myself. 
It was thus that I found myself "a western man," and in 
many respects that was the making of me. Thrown upon 
my own resources at an early age, and that, too, Mnthout 
money or means, I learned to economize in time, in ex- 
penditures, and in every thing else — eschewed the ardent 
and the weed, and made the most and the best of all the 
means in my power, consistent w^ith all my personal and 
official duties. And if I never have enjoyed abundance, I 
have never really suffered want. Though many a time I 
have found myself "hard run" to keep along. But dili- 
gence, patience, and perseverance have thus far took me 
safely through. 

The country being new, I soon found myself in demand 
as a teacher, as well as a minister, orator, and lecturer. 
Have taught school more or less every year since 1821, 
three years only excepted — in solid time about twelve years, 
and have had not less than some two thousand pupils 
around me. Some of whom have worked their way to 
iionorable distinction and usefulness — and one, at least, 
into the penitentiary; and a few others I could name, will, 
in all human probability, graduate at that State institution, 
or be elongated in a hempen necklace. So look sharp 
boys, "lest you fall into an evil net" — bring reproach 
upon yourselves, and your parents with sorrow to the grave. 
I early learned to use love and kindness instead of harsh- 
ness in the schoolroom, and I have found it to work like a 
charm. IMy experience and observation as a teacher, I 
should like to communicate in full, for the benefit of all 
the parties concerned; but my book being already too large, 
I must omit it here. Suffice it to say that, almost all 
children can be governed by mildness and decision. If 
you can't reach them one way you can another, if you have 
sufficiently studied their dispositions and their home train- 
ing. If utterly ungovernable, when all kind expedients have 
27 



314 cotton's keepsake. 

been faithfully and fully resorted to — then, perhaps, the 
better correction is a dismissal, at least, for a season. 
Get the love of the children, not by letting them rule you, 
but by showing to them clearly, that you wish to rule them 
for their own good. Fix that in the mind by kind and 
gentle means, and the point is gained, and the schoolroom 
becomes a happy place, both to the teacher and the pupils ; 
and that my soul knows right well, as may readily be 
seen by my poetic literary department. ! I love my 
scholars, and they love me — I know they do, generally, with 
a warm heart. 

A CANDIDATE. 

In 1828, I commenced what may be termed my political 
career — was announced by a friend as " candidate for the 
Legislature/^ It was an age most emphatically of " grog 
and decanters.'^ But I was so sentimentally opposed to 
the practice that no entreaties upon the part of ray friends 
could induce me to sanction it by my example. I was 
the first candidate that I ever knew that did not submit 
to the custom, and I never have once in all my life. Well 
I commenced my career in "the day of small things," 
received just two hundred votes at my first heat — next time 
two hundred more, and so on for six heats without an 
election, coming up to within ten votes of it once. I kept 
in right good heart all the time, knowing that at "these 
licks," it would be my turn by-and-by, if I did not become 
weary in well-doing, and surely I possessed " the gift of 
countenance" to a remarkable degree. 



AN EDITOR. 
But at this time my ever-cherished fi-iend, John Bennet, 
sold out, and removed to Henry Co., in this State, and w^as 
extremely anxious that I should accompany him, made me 
several propositions that I deemed valuable, and as I had 
all the time kept myself embarrassed by my ministerial 
and gratuitous services, I concluded to sell out — right up 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 315 

and remove ; and as a hiAA^yer would say, commence the 
world de novo. I very reluctantly left old Dearborn ; but 
thinking it to be the better v^^ay for my family, I tore 
myself away from my early friend, and located myself 
near New Castle, upon a beautiful little farm, which at 
an unusual good lay, I had purchased of my ever-cherished 
friend, Isaac Bedsaul, who gave me a great bargain, and 
easy terms, to secure my location in that community. Soon 
after my arrival, the citizens of Henry started a county 
paper, called 

THE NEW CASTLE BANNER. 

and desired me to edit it, which I consented to do for a 
season, and until other and better arrangements could be 
made. Forthwith some of the editors, whom I omit to 
name, said I was a broken-down politician, and seemed 
to regret that the New Castle folks had been imposed 
upon by me. Being measurably among strangers, these 
unkind and untrue sayings " stung me to the core.'' I 
knew it was all false as sin, and I knew that those editors 
who sought thus to revenge themselves upon me for political 
and personal variances, also knew that every word of it 
was untrue, or at least ought to know it, perhaps that would 
be the most charitable saying. I, however, felt that I owed 
it to myself and friends, forthwith to resign the editorial 
chair, which I did accordingly. There being two judges 
to elect that year in old Dearborn, I shut up my house, 
came back on a visit, and stood a poll for judge. There 
were four candidates, and two to be elected, and out of 
2500 votes cast, I received 2210; and the highest vote by 
several hundreds that any one man had ever received, and 
all without grog at that. This was such a refutation to 
the pitiful slang of unkind and ungenerous editors, that I 
had no language to express my gratitude; but determined 
at every loss to serve my old friends, and forthwith arranged 
all my affairs accordingly, sold my Henry farm, re-located 
myself again in old Dearborn, where I ever have, and 
doubtless will remain. 



316 cotton's keepsake. 

I had secured a beautiful location, and one of the prettiest 
farms, and many exceedingly kind friends in Henry Co., 
whom I was loth to leave, and whose names and memories 
I fondly cherish still. The following precious names I 
must and will embalm in the pages of my little book. 
John Bennett, Philander Ross, Thaddeus Owen, old Father 
Lyness, Isaac Beadsaul, Judge Sandford, John Powell, 
Hon. Miles C. and Eli Murphy, Judge Elliot, Zadok Ben- 
nett, old Father Shelly, Dr. Beed, Judge Bundy and George 
Rodgers and families, and would like to more. Friend 
Rodgers is noio in the drug business at No. 51 Main St., 
Cincinnati, under the firm of " Rodgers, Son's & Co," I 
take pleasure in recommending my good, and honest, and 
honorable friend Rodgers to the favorable consideration of 
all my readers, who may visit the city on business in " his 
line." Give him a call friends, as well for yopr own as for 
liis or my sake. 

After serving a term of seven years upon the bench of 
the Circuit Court, I was appointed sole judge of the Pro- 
bate Court, by Gov. Whitcomb, and was subsequently elected 
to the same office by a heavy and good majority, over one 
of the very best citizens in the county, R. D. Brown, Esq. 
My friends did it up " brown " that time, and no mistake. 
The duties of which office I performed for the space of 
more than five years ; when our New State Constitution 
terminated the office or Court of Probate, which let me out. 
At which time the Bar were kind enough to express their 
approbation and good will in the following preamble and 
resolutions, which I estimate so highly under all the cir- 
cumstances, that I can not deny myself the pleasure of 
introducing them here. If it be vain I can't help it, and 
don't want to. 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 317 

BAR MEETING. 

On motion of Ahram Brower, Esq., the following pro- 
ceedings of a meeting of the Bar of Dearborn County are 
ordered to be entered on record. 

At a meeting of the Bar of Dearborn County held at the 
Court House on the 24th day of September, 1852, James T. 
Brown was appointed President, and Abram Brower, jr., 
Secretary. The following preamble and resolutions were 
unanimously adopted. 

Whereas the Probate Court of Dearborn County being 
about to go out of existence, the members of the Bar feel 
it their duty to place upon the record of said court a testi- 
monial of their respect for Judge Alfred J. Cotton, whose 
services, as Judge of said Court, will close with the present 
term — th erefore 

Resolved, — That we have been associated with Judge 
Cotton in the administration of Justice for seven years as 
Associate Judge of the Dearborn Circuit Court, and for 
more than five years as Judge of the Probate Court of said 
county, and that it affords us pleasure to bear testimony 
to his close attention to judicial business — and to the 
patient hearing of all cases submitted to him, and his 
earnest efforts to administer law and justice in the dis- 
charge of his varied and complicated duties. 

Resolved — That we entertain the highest respect for the 
moral worth of Judge Cotton, and part with him with the 
kindest and best of feelings. 

JAMES T. BROWN, Chairman. 

Abram Brower, Secretary. 

A true copy from the minutes of Probate Court of Dear- 
born County, Indiana, of the term of August and Septem- 
ber, 1852. 

Cornelius O'Brien Clerk of the Court of Common Pleas 
and the seal thereof hereunto affixed at Lawrenceburg, this 
30th day of October, A. D. 1855. 

Cornelius O'Brien Clerk, [l. s.] 



318 cotton's keepsake. 

It is not to be inferred from the foregoing proceedings, 
that the "members of the bar '^ consider me a Blackstone 
or a Kent — by no means. And yet, perhaps, I can say 
what few other judges can. For more than five years, 
with a heavy docket in the Court of Probate, and some 
very knotty and important cases, not one single decision 
of mine was reversed, either in part or in full — not one; 
but all appeals (which were not numerous) were sent back, 
*' In all things affirmed." And on the Circuit Bench, for 
seven years, there were, I believe, only three reversions of 
my concurring opinion. For this happy and creditable 
state of afi'airs, both to myself, my friends, and my coun- 
try, I am much more indebted to a good bar of attorneys 
than to any profound legal attainment of my own ; though 
you may be sure I applied myself closely. The bar being 
faithful to their clients, and very industrious withal, fur- 
nished to my hands all the authorities, with their own opin- 
ions and comments ; so that it only required at my hands 
a sound discrimination and an honest and fearless heart 
to decide aright. It is matter of great convenience for a 
judge to be profound in the law, but with such a bar as 
we have here in old Dearborn, it is not essential, as my 
own history clearly demonstrates. 

It is very easy for some people to speak contemptuously 
of lawyers, but I regard it as the most fortunate event of 
my life, when I was officially associated with them. True, 
the practice of the law calls loudly for a reform, and the 
gentlemen of our bar have often so expressed themselves 
to me, both publicly and privately. All it requires is 
some one to lead off in the proper direction, and all will 
forthwith aid in the good enterprise. I asked and ob- 
tained admission to " the bar,'' for no other earthly reason 
than to "put the ball in motion," and to encourage young 
men to look up and take courage by my example and 
success. See more fully my " Law Notice," a few pages 
ahead. And as I have undertaken to speak of myself, I 
will not make a fool of myself, through false modesty, 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 319 

by keeping back that which. I owe to myself, as auto- 
bioj2;rapher. 

The members of the bar will bear me testimony that once 
on a time the presiding judge had charged the jury, and 
they had retired, when I suggested to him that he had 
overlooked a strong point in the case, whereupon he 
ordered the sheriff to bring the jury forthwith into court, 
when, openly giving me credit for the suggestion, he 
reversed his charge, and they found accordingly. My 
charge to the grand jury will not soon be forgotten — 
surely not. 

At another time, an important case was before the jury, 
and the president desired me to give them the charge, and, 
under the assurance that he would correct any error or 
omission, I went forward very deliberately and fully, when 
the president said, in just so many words: "Gentlemen 
of the jury, I fully and heartily concur in the charge of 
Judge Cotton. Every position that he has taken is cor- 
rect, and he has not omitted a single point in the case. 
I have not another word to add. Take the case, gentle- 
men." Several similar occurrences followed. 

Once on a time, an attorney, having a personal interest 
in an important suit which he was managing, made ap- 
plication for a " change of venue,'' alleging in his affida- 
vit that he could not get justice in this court, on account 
of the .prejudice of the presiding judge. Of course, my 
brother associate and I awarded to him " a change,^' by 
complying with the provisions of the law in such cases, 
and there the matter rested. And when we had reached 
the case, the president informed me that he should not sit 
upon it; that no man who would hold up his hand and 
swear that he believed that his personal prejudice would 
be carried into his official duties, could not have the ben- 
efit of his opinion. " Why, judge, I can not do without you. 
This is an important bank case, and without a precedent." 
" I know that," said he, " but I am willing to risk you, 
and if you commit an error, all judges often do the same, 



320 cotton's keepsake. 

and the appellate court -will set you right.'' Entreaties 
■were vain, and not a single hint could I g-et from him in 
the premises. Suffice it to say that it was "a demurrer" 
to the bank's declaration. And no sooner was the case 
called, and the attorney had risen to address the court, 
than, sure enough, the president vacated his seat. After a 
long argument and a patient hearing, I thought myself 
master of the question, and without consulting my hon- 
orable associate, I gave my opinion, and overruled the 
demurrer. In this I was promptly sustained by my col- 
league, which settled the question. At recess the attorney 
very pleasantly accosted me with, ** Well, you decided that 
case against me, and as you are inexperienced, it is not to 
be wondered at ; but, then, you were clearly wrong, as all 
the bar say. Now, as I have another case of the same 
kind for to-morrow morning, I want you to reflect, and 
take counsel, for your own credit, as a judge, not that I 
care particularly, for if you do not reverse that decision, 
I shall take it up, and it will be reversed at sight." 

" Very well, I will hear you patiently, and if I see my 
error, I shall be both happy and ready to correct it." 1 
listened to his second address; it was long and labored, 
when I told him I saw nothing to change my former 
opinion, and should decide this in the same way ; so said 
my colleague. Well, both cases went up, and both came 
back "in all things affirmed," and upon a question, too, 
that had never before been sprung in any case whatever. 
Now I ask you, gentle reader, if that "aint some" for a 
poor friendless and penniless boy as I was when I started 
out into the world? And is it not too good to be lost and 
kept back from other poor boys or young men who are 
trying to make something of themselves ? I think so, 
and therefore I record these things for their encourage- 
ment, as well as for my own personal gratification. 

One of the last cases I had to decide in the Probate 
Court, was an important Will case. The attorney took 
his appeal with groat seeming confidence, and many of my 



AUTOBIOGRAPHr. 321 

friends, who were familiar with the case, said I had missed 
it for once, sure. "Gentlemen/' said I, "you have not 
thought of this case as I have. I have slept upon it, or 
rather I have laid awake upon it, and if that decision is 
not affirmed, I'll not guess again/' And sure enough, in 
due time it came back, "in all things affirmed.'' And 
thus began, continued, and ended my judgeship. 

One thing more and I dismiss the subject. One of my 
decisions in the court of probate afSicts me much — more 
than all others put together — though but little was really 
involved in it. A gentleman, going to California, deposited 
with his friend, Abram Brower, an eminent young lawyer, 
and an excellent young man, (and, by-the-by, an early and 
ever-cherished pupil of mine,) some fifty or sixty dollars, 
telling him, if he never returned, he designed it as a 
present to him. It so happened that he died in California. 
Some one, on hearing the intelligence, said that he died 
some dollars in his debt ; whereupon Mr. Brower, in the 
generosity and honesty of his heart, for the first time, said 
that he had some money in his hands belonging to the 
estate, and if he had a just claim, he would pay it off. 
The thing got out; application was made for letters of 
administration ; Mr. Brower thought administration useless, 
as he was ready to pay, if a just claim was presented. 
Whereupon it was suggested that there might be several 
other claims, and the safer and better way was to admin- 
istrate upon the estate in due form. Mr. Brower thought 
he should then administer ; and I was so fearful that I 
should be suspected of doing wrong, that I actually did it. 
First, I ought not to have granted letters, as neither rela- 
tive or creditor applied for them ; secondly, I should by 
all means have appointed Mr. Brower administrator, if 
any body. I did not see all the points in the case until 
it was too late. The claims presented I found to be all 
unfounded, and so decided them; yet every single dollar, 
I believe, was "legally filched" from the pockets of Mr- 
Brower by way of costs; and that I should have inno- 



o22 cotton's keepsake. 

cently been a party to the transaction afflicts me much, 
even to this day. I ought to refund every dollar to him, 
and will if I am ever able to do it. The best miss it 
sometimes, and here I did it most egregiously, upon a 
small scale; and I record my error as a warning to others, 
and as an act of justice both to Mr. Brower and myself. 

He, hoAvever, made me sweat for it before I left the 
bench. Ho had a suit in court, the investigation of which 
seemed to vex him not a little, and the opposite party 
quite as much, and rather sharp and angry words were 
being passed between the parties. I, of course, interposed, 
in my mild and easy manner, but it was no go — the fires 
were too deep, the provocation too great, and both parties 
seeming rather to court a wordy contest, and knowing, as 
I did, that friend Brower was a little vexed at me, or at 
least had good reason to be — my term of office being then 
near its final termination — and no other parties or persons 
being then in court, I yielded them a slack rein, and, 
of course, the parties were soon rather boisterous and 
"uproarious," when lo ! to my utter chagrin, who should 
drop in but the Hon. Judge Down};-, one of the very best 
and most dignified and commanding judges in the State. 
Usually I was ever happy to see the judge, but this thr^ 
his simple presence gave me "the horrors" for keeps. I, 
however, " grinned and bore it " with the very best possi- 
ble grace, but you may be well assured that "I sat 
'mazin' uneasy." As a dignified presiding officer and a 
judge, I suddenly fell at least thirty degrees below zero 
in my own estimation, and, I presume, entirely below the 
point of observation in the estimation of Judge Downy. 
However, I have lived through it, and only record the 
occurrence as one I vividly recollect in the checkered 
scenes of my humble, yet somewhat eventful life. 

Mr. Brower, as ever, is one of my warmest friends, and 
as such, he was the mover to the bar proceedings, as will 
be seen by the record, which I highly appreciate and re- 
ciprocate. One thing more and I am done. 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 323 

There is an iucident connected with my judgeship which 
T beg leave to note. In 1826, I taught school in Eliza- 
bethtown, Ohio, and among my pupils was enrolled the 
name of Abram Brower, then a very promising, interest- 
ing little lad, and as fine a scholar as one need desire. 
But the idea that I should ever be judge, and he one of 
the most efficient lawyers at the bar, nay more, my right- 
hand man, the ready, skillful and beautiful clerk of my 
court, had not at that time entered either of our imagina- 
tions. But it all came true in time ; and when from the 
bench I saw how nobly and skillfully he demeaned himself 
as an attorney and as a clerk, I could but feel proud at the 
reflection that he was once a pupil of mine, and if I had 
done nothing to develop his active mind, I surely had not 
spoiled him. This merited compliment to Mr. Brower, 
growing out of this incident, I think is in place, intending 
no disparagement to either attorneys or clerks, who are 
*' hard to beat " the world over. 



A TRIBUTE 

To my Associate Judges is here due from me. Hon. Miles 
C. Eggleston, the Presiding Judge, was one of the best 
legal men in the State. Judge Livingston was an honest- 
hearted man, and had been elected several times to the 
same office. And, although we were often at variance in 
opinion, yet as men, we lived on terms of great personal 
kindness. Both have gone to their reward, and I alone 
linger upon the earth. Peace to their slumbering dusts. 

I should very much like to pay a personal tribute to all 
the gentlemen of the Bar, and officers of the Court. But 
to do that in the fullness of my heart, would occupy more 
space than I can possibly spare. They all have my best 
wishes, and share in my daily prayers. And with that, 
I trust they will be content. 

After being admitted to the Bar, on the motion and 
testimony of my good friend J. T. Brown, and cordially 



324 cotton's keepsake. 

greeted and made welcome by others, I published the fol- 
lowing " law notice/' which produced quite an excitement, 
and not a little laughter. 



LAW NOTICE. 
ADVERTISEMENT — EXTRA. 

"Look here everybody, ^' and more too! 
JUDGE COTTON, 

ATTORNEY AT LAw!! 

The undersigned, having been formally "admitted to the 
bar," as an Attorney and Counselor at Law, takes this 
method to inform " all the world and the rest of mankind,'' 
that he will practice as such, in any and all the courts, 
either in the county or State ; also, in any and all the 
courts in the United States and territories, in Nova Scotia, 
in the Canadas, in Russian America, in any and all of the 
Mexican and South American States, in any and all the 
courts in Europe, and throughout the Eastern Continent, 
and " the islands that slumber upon the bosom of the 
mighty ocean :" Provided, always, his terms suit, and he 
has any thing in his legal line to practice, and, provided, 
also, that health and all other circumstances are favorable 
to such an arrangement. 

For his deeply profound legal attainments, his overwhelm- 
ing shrewdness and cunning, his marvelously correct and 
active business habits, etc., special reference is made to all 
those who are the least acquainted with him — if total 
STRANGENESS, SO much the better. 

He respectfully solicits, and confidently anticipates a 
very liberal share of ("do nothing" with) the law busi- 
ness — (except to keep out of it.) 

His office is at the "White Cottage," Locust Avenue, 
Mule Town, Dearborn Co., Indiana, where he may at any 
and all times be found, when he is nowhere else. Don't 
all call at once, gentlemen. 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 325 

Editors, generally, will please " lie low and keep dark '' 
about this advertisement, lest I be overrun with "nothing 
to do/' 

REV. JUDGE A. J. COTTON, 

Attorney and Counselor at Law. 
Jan. 29, 1858. 



For the Register. 

Mr. Editor: — My little novel law notice has not only 
excited much merriment, but subjected me to much quiz- 
ing as to my terms, etc. Please spare me a little corner 
of your sheet, and I Mail answer all at once, and be done 
with it. 

In the first place, I must have a good round fee to be- 
gin with, either in hand, or well secured. Widows and 
orphans, a double fee as a matter of course. And then it 
is to be distinctly understood, all the time, that I will 
never descend to any mean trickery or manoeuvering, to 
save a client, — that I would scorn to do to save myself — 
will not ask for a favorable judgment or acquittal, unless 
I honestly think that my client is justly entitled to it — 
will never ask for a continuance, or " change of venue," 
merely to harrass innocent or injured parties, or to escape 
a just penalty. Nor will I ever attempt to confuse or em- 
barrass " a deposing witness ;" but will let the whole truth 
come gushing, full and free, like the mountain torrent, 
whether for or against my client. I adopt and publish 
these " rules and regulations," because I think that " the 
practice of the law " calls loudly for reform in all of these 
particulars, and I am fully determined to start off right, 
or not start at all. Now, the law rightly understood, and 
properly administered, is exceedingly beautiful — it is soul- 
ennobling — it is heart-cheering and inspiring — it meets out 
equal and exact justice to all, under all possible circum- 
stances — it throws its protecting arms around the new-born 
babe, hovers over him all along through life, over hia 
bier, and over his house of death. It follows the culprit 



326 cotton's keepsake. 

into court — into prison and upon the scaffold^ — secures to 
him a fair trial, a just judgment, and the full enjoyment 
of every unforfeited right and privilege ; it is, indeed, the 
wisdom and experience of ages, condensed and reduced to 
a system of rules for the protection and good of all. Such 
is the law. And yet the practice of it has become disre- 
putable ! and a lawyer is at once too generally set down 
as a wicked and perverse man — a villain and a knave. 
Now these things ought not so to be, even in imagination, 
much less in fact. A minister and a lawyer, as a latinist 
would say, should constitute a. par nobile fratrum in virtue's 
cause — " the cause of all mankind." 

I know well that there are a great many high-minded 
lawyers, who feel it their duty to descend to things which 
are irksome and painful to them, yet the practice seems 
to require it, and, therefore, they feel compelled to "grin 
and bear it." This unhappy state of things has been brought 
about, in part, by a misapprehension of a lawyer's duty. 
Being true to his client has been thought to mean that at 
every and all hazards, " by hook or by crook," he is bound 
to see his client out of the meshes of a violated law. And 
it may well be questioned if this state of things is not 
chargeable for many, if not most of the offenses against 
the peace and dignity of the State. If I chance to be caught, 
says the offender, a few dollars and my attorney will work 
me out of it. All law writers say, escaping punishment 
is a great encouragement to crime — 't is not the severity, 
but the certainty of punishment that deters evil doers. 
See Dymond's Moral Science, page 29. 

Now can we suppose that the wisdom of a State, assem- 
bled to frame law^s for the peace and order of the com- 
munity, would constitute one set of officers to see that the 
laws be duly respected and executed ; and another set, bound 
under the solemnities of an oath, to the utmost of their 
abilities to pervert and misrepresent the law, and that, 
too, after having been sworn to observe and maintain it? 
Preposterous ! ! ! Now, all that an attorney owes to his 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 327 

client is, to see that none of his rights are invaded or in- 
fringed upon ; and this is all in perfect keeping with his oath 
to maintain and respect the laws. Do n't you see it, friends ? 
Now, if I can only put the ball in motion, that shall pu- 
rify and make honorable a practice so essential to the well- 
being of all, I shall consider that I have accomplished a 
great and good work — that my little book, w^hich I intend 
shall bear abroad these suggestions, is not written in vain — 
that I have not lived in vain. And, in conclusion, if my 
terms are acceptable, and health, and all other things 
favorable, bring on your business, gentlemen. "I'm your 
man.'' But for the pleasantry of the thing, you would do 
well, perhaps, to bear in mind, that I have assumed rather 
a large field to operate in. South America and Europe are 
embraced in my imaginary circuit. My book, is to be a 
book of truth, and this is all true — imagination. Nor is 
this all — for would you believe it — the very next day, and 
evening after it was announced to the world, that " I was 
a regularly built attorney," duly authorized to practice as 
such, I say, that I forthwith received a communication from 
the sun, moon, and stars, which was transmitted with the 
velocity of a ray of light — whereupon it was significantly 
suggested, that my "professional services" would be in 
quite as good demand, and pay quite as well, in those 
shining orbs, as in South America, or Europe. I knew, 
years ago, that some of my poems had appeared in the 
London papers, placed to my credit, and sent back to this 
country, and I thought that quite a getting up in the world 
for a poor obscure boy. But, that my fame should ever 
reach those " worlds of light, that hang pendulous in the 
blue arch of ether," is quite mysterious and overwhelming. 
Because 1 ever " set my mark high," I reckon. Well, of 
course, I shall go when officially called upon, a suitable 
fee tendered, and a suitable and safe conveyance to and 
from, are provided for me. More especially as this little 
globe has ever been altogether too small a field of opera- 
tions for my inquisitive and capacious mind — capital ! ! 



328 cotton's keepsake. 



Arranging the affairs of the moon, as I am upward 
borne, and so on, as I pass from globe to globe, per- 
chance the first that my old friends of Dearborn will 
hear of me, will be post-marked, Orion, or Arcturius, or one 
of the beautiful Pleiades, in the immensity of space, per- 
chance, from the morning or evening star. So be patient, 
friends, you shall neither be neglected or forgotten, when 
I am " 'way up ihar." Let that suffice. And now I leave 
it to the reader to say that if I am not "the greatest 
author he ever knew — if I aint " the tallest " by more 
than a feet." 

REV. JUDGE ALFRED JOHNSON COTTON, etc., etc. 
Attorney and Counselor at Law — and more too. 

Reader, you have now read my humorous law notice, 
and may have had a hearty laugh over it, as I intended 
you should. Having " a few thoughts more of the same 
sort left," I will treat you to them, and pass. 

When you are nearly melted with the burning mid- 
summer sun, only think how comfortable I must be at>- 
tending court, on the other side of it, perfectly in the 
shade, where, of course, I should be most happy to see 
you. Whew! 

You have often seen and heard much about the " man 
in the moon," but never knew who he was, I suppose. 
Well, next time you look at the moon, just suppose that 
the court has adjourned, and I have slipped out to see if 
I could see you. Just imagine that you see a part of the 
courthouse, and the cupola where I am standing, and 
■>Jrhen a silvery cloud passes between me and you, only 
think that I am waving my great broad-brimmed hat at 
you, and you have it all "in a nut-shell." The man in 
the moon is Judge Cotton, eh? "Good as wheat," and 
gooder, too. When you behold the glimmering light of 
the distant pleiades, the ever-faithful and true north star, 
or the dazzling, bright and beautiful Mars and Jupiter, 
just imagine that their courthouses are brilliantly illumin- 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 329 

ated for an evening session, and that I am perfectly " as- 
tonishing the natives" — holding judges, jurors, attorneys, 
and all the bystanders perfectly enchained with wonder 
and delight with my lofty eloquence, in one of my mas- 
terly efforts upon "constitutional law" and "eternal right 
and justice." Ain't that making quite a raise in the world, 
and getting up into the pictures? 

Where is the eccentric and witty James T. Brown ; the 
grave and deeply-profound P. L. Spooner ; the forensic 
and captivating D. S. Majors ; the eloquent and high- 
minded A. Brower; the industrious and eminent T. Gazley; 
the legal giant E. Dumont ; the strong team, the fiir-famed 
'par nohile fratuni Ilanes and Holman; the unequaled State's 
Attorney ; the venerable and poetic John Dumont ; the per- 
fect walking-law-library, the lamented John Kyman; where 
all the young and promising " gentlemen of the bar," when 
compared with ^'this high and lofty pleading" of mine? 
Ay, where the world-renowned and world-lamented Grundy, 
Clay and Webster ? Just no w-h-a-r ! 

I have indulged myself in these fanciful contemplations 
at my own expense, in order to prompt the young to 
originate thoughts and reflections ; for none surely will 
deny to me the paternity of these musings. In the next 
place, I designed their perusal as a little pleasant and 
agreeable pastime, which is alike useful both to mind and 
body, in small portions. Lastly, I have said that one 
reason for writing my little book was, that I did not wish 
to die, and lie down, and be at once and for ever forgotten. 
Now, it is one thing to speak or write so as to be under- 
stood, and quite another so as to be clearly and distinctly 
remembered ; and I now venture that no one who has read 
these humorous and fanciful flights of the mind, can ever 
read the geography, or survey the maps, of any and every 
part of this county, or even of this globe, without thinking 
about Judge Cotton's practicing law there, as, for instance, 
South America or Europe. Neither can he ever behold 
the sun, moon, or stars, without associating my humble 
28 



330 cotton's keepsake. 

name and memory with them. For aught I know, chil- 
dren may yet be taught to regard tlie man in the moon 
as being Judge Cotton— good 1 And really and truthfully 
I anticipate a much loftier and bolder flight hereafter ; far 
beyond the most distant planet, I shall fondly hope to 
" inherit a kingdom,^' and wear crowns and diadems fast 
by the throne of God, in bliss immortal, high up in heaven, 
when " the duties and the conflicts of life are o'er ;" and 
here I cease my majestic flight, dazzled with the tran- 
Bcendant splendor, and lost in the infinite greatness of the 
"great First Cause," Cease, did I say? No, I shall go on 
brightening in glory and bliss, worlds and ages without 
end — halleluj ah — amen. 



And now, as light and shade, harmoniously blended, and 
in due proportions, form the beautiful landscape, so does 
light and grave reading the pleasing and interesting book. 
I shall, therefore, right here, in close proximity, and in 
open contrast with my fanciful imaginings, record some 
"hair-breadth escapes," in my humble life, of rather a 
a serious character. That "night with a panther," if not 
with a bear, and my rattlesnake story, will, of course, be 
remembered here. 

A Fall from a Cart. — When I was a lad of some eight 
years old, I fell from a load of hay, right in front of the 
wheel, and so closely to it that it made a slight skin-wound 
upon the very crown of my head. One inch farther under 
the wheel would have been hopelessly fatal to me. My 
dear good father thought me lost as it was ; and I can 
never forget how thankful he appeared to be when, upon 
examination, he found that I had received only a slight 
wound. I see him now — I feel the pressure of his lips, as 
with tearful eyes he greeted me, and thanked heaven for 
the narrow and wonderful escape. Yes, although fifty 
years ago, I see the very spot^the cart-wheel, as it rolled 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 3 31 

suddenly upon me, before I could move — I see old **Star 
and Bright/^ as though it was an occurrence of yesterday. 

A Fall under a Sled. — Again, at the age of thirteen, 
perhaps, while going to market with a load of wood, in 
the winter season, I stepped suddenly upon the nose of 
my sled, in order to let another team pass. My foot 
slipped, and I fell across the nose of the sled, as we used 
to say, and in turning over to get up, my right leg dropped 
below the runner, which, of course, soon run on my leg, 
just above the knee; and with my arm out upon the 
tongue, and my other leg and thigh above and against the 
roller, I was carried several rods before my friends could 
stop my oxen and my horse, which had taken fright at my 
thoughtless ado and outcry ; for with a load of wood upon 
my leg, and that dragged along by my resistance to pre- 
vent its going over me, you may be assured that, aside 
from the fright and the fearful position that I then occu- 
pied, "it hurt like the mischief" And thus I lay some 
time before my friends could disengage me. Fortunately 
no bones were broken. My kind friends took charge of 
my team, put me into a sleigh, and took me home, where 
I was confined for some weeks. Had the sled passed 
over me, I must have lost my leg, and, in all probability, 
my life. I tremble as I recount this little, yet very 
hazardous occurrence ; I am in the very midst of it again 
while I record it. 

The Rifle Balls. — Once on a time a gun was accident- 
ally discharged, and the ball struck the house not six 
inches from my head. At another time, as I was passing 
along in the street, whiz went the leaden messenger close 
to my head, only a few inches to the right, and above. It 
was discharged at a squirrel some distance oJST, and alto- 
gether out of sight of me. 0, I wonder that people are 
not often slain in this manner; it is indeed marvelous to 
me. 

A Blow from a Sledge Hammer. — Once at a raising, a 
man with a large iron sledge hammer, in attempting to 



332 cotton's keepsake. 

drive a pin, hit me a full glancing blow just on the crown 
of my head. Had that blow struck me a single half inch, 
or even one-fourth of an inch lower, it would have crushed 
my head all into atoms. As it was, it perfectly stunned 
me. I whirled, and should have fallen, had I not have 
been caught by those who were present. I was conveyed 
to the house, where, after a little rubbing and bathing, I 
came to myself a^ain, and soon got over it. My friend 
thought he had killed me, and was horror-stricken at the 
thought. 

A Step Overboard. — Coming home from New Orleans 
upon a steamboat, I was pacing the hurricane deck, ab- 
solved in thought, when I walked so far off, that it was 
with the greatest effort that I was enabled to throw my- 
self so as to fall just upon the outer verge of the deck. 
It was at the hour of twilight, and upon the mighty Mis- 
sissippi. Had I went overboard I must have perished, and 
perchance, unnoticed. Even now I shudder at the thought! 

The Rattlesnake. — Once on a time, in search of my 
cows, I chanced to step close to an unobserved, coiled up, 
and very large rattlesnake. But true to his generous na- 
ture, to " bark before he bites," I heard his ominous and 
familiar "rattle," right at my feet, and if I didn't jump 
quick and far, I did my best, my very best, in both par- 
ticulars, you may rest assured, and just barely missed his 
well-aimed strike, and the deadly poison of his fearful 
fangs. A single half inch, I think, is all that I had to 
"come and go upon." Was that not a "hair-breadth 
escape," and from the bite of a venomous reptile some 
five feet long, and nearly one foot round ? And to crown 
the imminence of the danger, I was "barefoot" at the 
time. Tut — tut — tut! did you ever? If I haven't stept 
right into my little book all " barefoot! " Well, the book's 
my own, the thing is did and can't be helped now, so it 
can't, and I may as well make the best of it and let it 
pass without useless tears or regrets — nay, I '11 turn the 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 333 

same to " good account," by a little good advice about 
''harefeet.'" 

Some parents appear to be unwilling that any body 
should know that their little dears have feet and toes to 
them like their poor neighbors have, consequently they are 
encumbered with " stockings and shoes," almost from their 
birth. It would be exceedingly vulgar and cruel to let 
their little feet be seen or to touch " old mother earth." 
No wonder that we see so many puny, sickly children in 
the "higher circles" of life. See the "barefooted" little 
urchins about the street or in the country! how "rosy- 
cheeked " and plump they are. There seems to be some- 
thing peculiarly healthy absorbed and imbibed by coming 
in contact with the loose, mellow, and new-stirred earth. 
And 0, how invigorating and delightful is the sensation, 
not only to the naked feet, but to the whole system, from 
" the crown of the head to the soles of the feet ; " and old 
as I am, I often treat myself to " barefooted exercises," 
and " barefooted pleasures," in my fine and mellow gar- 
den. If you really love your children, give them occa- 
sionally a little "barefooted exercise." I pass. 

A Tempest on Lake Erie. — In one of my eastern tours, 
I took a steamboat at Sandusky bay, bound for Buffalo. 
We were no sooner out from the landing than we were met 
with a violent storm of wind and rain, and soon the " surg- 
ing billows " were rolling almost mountain high. At about 
midnight it was observed that our vessel was rolling from 
side to side very often, and as often was heard the familiar 
phrase, " trim the boat, trim the boat." The captain be- 
ing aroused from his slumber, either by this repeated oht- 
cry or by the motion of his boat, arose, and to his utter 
consternation found her nearly ready to sink, with three 
and a half feet of water in her hold. But, like a true 
philosopher, he kept all to himself — set the pumps at work, 
and found her soon afloat about right, when, upon a care- 
ful examination, he found that she had not " sprung a 
leak," but that one of the hatchways having been left 



334 cotton's keepsake. 

open, every dashing billow that broke over the deck, found 
way into the hold of the ship. A little farther delay, and 
all would have gone down together. As it was, we lost 
some two or three hours time, and the captain gave a 
breakfast to all on board, some four hundred at least. He 
told me all the particulars in the morning, and that that 
was the Jiyst time he ever had to breakftist his crew, which 
he did with great cheerfulness, and thought himself for- 
tunate under all the circumstances, to get off safely with 
that. I knew that something was the matter, but what, I 
could not tell. The fearfulness of the night and the 
" foaming angry billows " so reminded me of my poor lost 
brother, that I sat up to a very late hour in pensive mood, 
not so fearful as awestricken by " the wild commotion of 
the warring elements/^ The next day the cry of " a hat 
overboard," was several times heard, but, as good luck 
would have it, there was no head in it. Fine fish, too, 
would often throw themselves clear of the watery element, 
as much as to say, "we want to see what is going on in 
the world as well as you,'' or " here I am, catch me if 
you can." 

These reminiscences are to me mournfully pleasing. " A 
fearful tempest on the lake," I never can nor ever shall 
forget. 



PORTLAND. 

In one of my "homeward bound" trips from Maine, I 
took ship at Portland, that most delightful " Forest City," 
and, in some respects, the most delightful city on the 
globe. The stately and the beautiful elms adorn the 
whole city, almost in every direction, and from one end 
unto the other, perfectly arching all the fine and beautiful 
streets with their wide-spreading boughs, and their pic- 
turesque and cooling shade. In the hot summer season, 
when clothed in green foliage, it is a luxury to behold, 
and a luxury to enjoy. Add to this "the bay and harbor'* 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 335 

of Portland, which is not, perhaps, exceeded, in the "ro- 
mantic and beautiful,'^ by any other bay or harbor upon 
this "beautiful green earth." If the "Bay of Naples'' is 
even supposed to exceed it, it is only on account of its 
" time-honored " and hallowed associations ; its surround- 
ing objects ; its palaces ; its colossal and moss-groAvn 
ruins ; the smoking, rumbling, fearfully grand Vesuvius 
in the background. But in all the original elements of 
beauty and grandeur ; the size and form of the bay ; the 
lay of the land ; the graceful and sweeping inclination 
toward its pebbled shore ; the diversity of hills, mountains 
and plains ; of wild and of highly cultivated ground ; of 
beautiful and fertile gardens ; and the multitude of bright 
and beautiful islands that slumber upon the bosom and in 
sight and in the vicinity of the bay — can not be surpassed, 
even in imagination itself Nature seems to have exerted 
all her energies, all her skill, in producing the " enchant- 
ing scenery." And there it lies in all "its primeval 
loveliness," with only just such changes as personal con- 
venience might require — enough merely to show that man 
could appreciate surpassing beauty without being vain 
enough to suppose that he could improve it ; and it was 
no very extravagant fancy of one of the most beautiful 
and fanciful poets of that region, when he said that 
" they were originally a fairy creation — the summer re- 
treat of an elj&n race." 

I have already spoken of the delightful prospect pre- 
sented to the eye from the summit of Mount Abraham, 
Mount Bradbury, and the world-famed Bunker Hill monu- 
ment ; and they are surpassingly grand, majestic, and beau- 
tiful. But the landscape view from Portland Observatory 
totally eclipses any vision I ever beheld. " The everlasting 
hills'' of granite. White Hills and all, that, like "Alps 
on Alps, arise " in the north, piercing the very clouds ; 
the villages and churches that checker and adorn the 
plains and valleys below ; the placid bay of Casco on the 
east, and Saco on the west, and the broad and mighty 



336 cotton's keepsake. 

Atlantic on the south, with her thousand and one islands 
gracefully and peacefully slumbering upon her heaving 
bosom, in calm and sweet repose ; and, to add to the 
enchanting scenery, there go the ships to and fro, in every 
direction, with their towering masts piercing the skies, 
and their full-set and wide-spread canvas whitening the 
sea — coming in, going out, or passing by for some other 
destined port. To the curious, to the man of taste, to all 
the lovers of the "romantic and beautiful," a view from 
Portland Observatory pays well for all that it may cost to 
obtain it. No tongue, no pen can adequately tell the 
story, or paint the beauties of the scene. To be fully 
appreciated, it must be seen, and felt, and enjoyed. 
*'" Portland scenery against the ivorld!" I have thus dwelt, 
because I was here introduced to the immortally glorious, 
yet much persecuted, Neal Dow, of prohibited notoriety; 
and because Portland lies just in sight of my early home, 
and with it are associated many of my earliest and most 
cherished remembrances. And, of course, I " preach and 
lecture " there every time I go east. At my last visit, it 
was arranged for the Rov. Mr. Morse, my familiar friend, 
to preach in the morning, and for me to preach in the 
afternoon, or rather, I declined the morning service, which 
was pressed upon me. But after listening to the sweet, 
melting and eloquent sermon of Brother Morse, I regretted 
that I had not preached first, or even had consented to 
preach at all in his church ; and a kind providence, as I 
thought, had interposed in my behalf, by sending us, 
during the intermission, the first refreshing shower that 
had blessed and cheered the city and the country for weeks, 
or even months. It came down in torrents, precluding, as 
I thought, the practicability, if not the possibility, of the 
afternoon service ; and 0, how it relieved my mind, and 
revived the parched earth, and the almost perished vegeta- 
tion — verifying the beautifully appropriate lines of IIoyt 
upon 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 337 



A SHOWER. 

In the valley that I know — 

Happy scene ! — 
There are meadows sloping low, 
There the fairest flowers blow, 
And the brightest waters flow. 

All serene; 
But the sweetest thing to see, 
If we ask the dripping tree, 
Or the harvest-hoping swain, 

Is the rain. 

Ah ! the dwellers of the town, 

How they sigh ! 
How ungratefully they frown 
"When the cloud-king shakes his crown, 
And the pearls come pouring down 

From the sky! 
They descry no charm at all 
When the sparkling jewels fall, 
And each moment of the shower 

Seems an hour. 

Yet there's some thing very sweet 

In the sight, 
When the crystal currents meet 
In the dry and dusty street, 
And they wrestle with the heat, 

In their might; 
While they seem to hold a talk 
With the stones along the walk. 
And remind them of the rule. 

To " keep cool." 

But in the quiet dell, 

Ever fair, 
Still the Lord doeth all things well, 
When his clouds with blessings swell, 
29 



338 cotton's keepsake. 

And they break a brimming shell 

On the air; 
Then the shower hath its charms, 
Sweet and welcome to the farms, 
And they listen to its voice, 

And rejoice. 

"Well, as I was saying, we had a sweet refreshing 
shower, but it held up in good time for church, and it 
appeared as though all the city were going to be in at- 
tendance — such a crowd along the streets, and such "a 
perfect jam' ^ in the church, was seldom to be seen. In- 
deed, I was quite overcome by the'vastness of the assem- 
bly I was about to address, but in apostolic language, 
" the Lord stood by me," and I enjoyed a very comfort- 
able and precious season, and had a good assurance that 
it was even so, in an eminent degree, to my very attentive 
and seemingly delighted audience. The concluding re- 
marks of my dear Brother Morse, the preacher in charge, 
were certainly very complimentary and cheering, and met 
with a hearty response from the vast assemblage in attend- 
ance — verifying, to the very letter, the truthfulness of that 
divine saying, " A prophet is not without honor, save in 
his own country," etc. A similar compliment was paid to 
me, in the same city, fifteen years before that, on a similar 
occasion, by Brother Norton. Said he: "If this is 2^ fair 
specimen of 'the illiterate and incompetent ministers of 
the west,' about whom we hear so much in the periodicals 
and journals of the day, may our city often be blessed 
with such specimens/' 

To my western oratory, personal peculiarities, and the 
divine "unction from above,'' I owe the happy reception 
of my humble efforts. Many clustered around me at the 
altar, with a warm hand and a full heart, saying, " Brother 
Cotton, I recollect distinctly, and never can forget, either 
your text or sermon pronounced here twenty-five and fifteen 
years ago ;" and covering me all over with blessings and 
good wishes, we parted, to meet, perchance, no more in 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 339 

time. My lecture to the Sabbath-school, in the evening, 
was also an exceedinorly pleasant affair. Stepping on board 
the steamer on Monday morning, " homeward bound/' 
whom should I meet but the Rev. Brother Morse, who at 
once introduced me to the captain, who recognized me in 
a moment, gave me a very cordial greeting, and paid me 
a very flattering compliment. Said he: "I had the plea- 
sure to listen to your afternoon sermon yesterday, and I 
must say that I was never better entertained in all my 
life — so much so, that I traveled the whole length of the 
city nearly to hear your Sabbath-school address, which 
certainly was the most appropriate and profitable address 
of the kind our citizens have ever been treated to." It 
was one of my oddities, and that no doubt was the beauty 
of it. The delight of the captain seemed so complete and 
full, that the thought, unbidden, crossed my mind, that, 
perchance, for once in my life, I might come in for " a 
free passage." But no; he was too much engrossed with 
his own affairs to say " a free passage " once ; and the 
only one I ever received in all my life and travels was a 
*' free ticket" for myself and lady, last fall, " to Yincennes 
and back,'" on a visit to my son. To the voluntary inter- 
ference of my good friend, Colonel Jacob W. Eggleston, 
and the generous and noble-hearted President of the Cin- 
cinnati and St. Louis Railroad Company, Mr. Clements, am 
I indebted for this very timely, most acceptable, yet un- 
expected favor. I embalm their names in the pages of my 
little book, as is the remembrance of this great favor, this 
generous and liberal act, in my grateful remembrance, 
thus enabling me not only to visit my son, to view this 
ancient and primeval city, but also to view the world- 
famed " Treaty Ground " of the lamented General Harri- 
son and the immortal Tecumseh — a luxury which I had 
long desired to enjoy. Thanks to my generous friends. 



340 cotton's keepsake. 



A TEMPEST ON THE OCEAN. 

As I was saying, I sailed from Portland to Philadelphia, 
" homeward bound/' and while off the coast of Massachu- 
setts, we were overtaken by a storm, and such an one, as 
the captain informed me, that he had never before encoun- 
tered on " the mighty deep." Under a double-reefed fore- 
sail, we were driven at a fearful rate over " the crested 
foam of green mountain billows'' into the harbor of " Tar- 
paulin Cove," where we intended to " cast anchor," and 
*' outride the storm." When the cove hove in sight, it 
was literally a perfect wilderness of towering masts. All 
the vessels on the coast, and in reach of it, had put in for 
"safe keeping." Our Captain (Croweli) said as we had a 
fearful night before us, he would try to work his way 
through the shipping, so as to get a good inner mooring, 
which he affected very skillfully and adroitly ; and when 
the order was given to " let go the anchor," for some cause 
the anchor "got foul," as a sailor would say — that is, it 
did not drop readily, and it required quite an effort, and 
not a little time to disengage, and let it go. Consequently, 
we were carried quite a distance beyond where we intended 
to anchor, and really beyond good anchorage-ground. And, 
of course, when our ship swung upon her cable, "she drag- 
ged anchor," and we, forthwith, commenced drifting toward 
a rough and rocky shore ; slowly, to be sure, but still we 
were drifting ; and unless our anchor brought us up, we 
could not more than outride half the night. All that we 
could do now, was to rely upon our anchor, and take what 
was for us. The wind blowing " a perfect tornado," and 
the rain pouring down in sheets — in perfect sluices. ! 
that was a fearful, a dismal night; and, again, I thought 
of my dear, lost brother, and thought, too, that in all 
human probability, I should soon slumber with him beneath 
" proud ocean's angry foam." The night Avore away, and 
still we were nearing the fearful breaker on the shore. 
The captain said the ship, unless brought up soon, must 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 341 

be wrecked, and lost ; but if we all kept cool, and exercised 
good judgment, we might, perchance, all be saved, and 
went on to tell us how. Of course, none of us slept a 
wink "the live long night." A little after midnight our 
proud ship struck upon her keel, which made her timbers 
tremble from bow to stern, and sent the blood almost con- 
gealed to ice, all through my frame. Yet, hope of a better 
inheritance cheered my heart, and somewhat resigned me 
to my impending fate. Thump went the vessel, again and 
again, as the rolling billows receded from shore; and we 
were all awaiting in fearful suspense or calm composure, 
the final issue, when the captain came to me and said : 
We are riding noxo — and have been for several minutes, 
and if the flukes of our anchor have a good hold, we may 
yet " outride the storm." If she drags again I will let you 
know it immediately — soon he said, cheer up boys ! she 
still rides safely — and, in short, she safely " rode at anchor" 
all the rest of that bitter night, and the wind veering in 
the morning, she "swung upon her cable," far out from 
that fearful threatening shore, and at about noon, the cap- 
tain gave orders to "weigh anchor," the merry " yo heave" 
was soon heard at the capstan — the anchor taken on board, 
and under a light sail, and a full and fair breeze, we were 
soon standing out to sea, all safe and sound, as though 
nothing had happened, except all seemed exceedingly happy 
and thankful for our marvelous and merciful deliverance. 
One ship went on shore a total wreck, and several were badly 
injured, two that lay just alongside of us, cut away their 
masts to save themselves and cargoes. That was one of the 
nights, by me never to be forgotten. My Muse thought the 
occasion worthy of a lay at the time, which I here record, for 
the gratification of my readers, and for my own gratification, 
as one of the thrilling incidents, and "hair-breadth escapes," 
in my eventful life, as well as to preserve it from oblivion. 
For really, I deem it worthy of preservation, not for the 
beauty or harmony of its poetic numbers, but for the thrill- 
ing incident it records in "life's checkered scenes." 



342 cotton's keepsake. 

The angry billows roll in foam, the howling tempests roar, 
And we are dril'ting fast astern upon a rock-bound shore; 
A thrilling, fearful shock proclaims the fotal hour is nigh, 
When we must be a total wreck — escape we need not try. 

Be ready, men, keep cool, keep cool, let each his part act well, 
The ship is lost! yet we may live the feai'ful scene to tell; 
Cheer up my lads, again he said, she's riding safely now, 
And if her anchor-hold proves firm^ all will be saved I trow."* 

The morning dawns, the winds come round, we swing right out 

from shore. 
And all with gratitude and praise, God's saving hand adore. 
" Weigh anchor " now my hearty lads, again we '11 put to sea, 
"Yo-heave!" was heard — "yo-heave!" "yo-heave! iu merry, 

happy glee. 

Unfurl your canvas to the breeze, up with the flying gib, 
And soon we were at sea again, and sailing very glib ; 
And now far out upon the main, I set me down to write 
A line or two upon the scenes I passed through safely in the 
night. 

In after time I shall recall this thrilling scene to view, 

And gratefully adore, that hand which took me safely through; 

And never let it once be said, I was preserved in vain. 

To live for naught, or worse than that, to give another pain. 

Nay, let me live to do some good, both for " church and state," 
I would be busy all the time, though naught I do be great; 
When all my duties are performed, and life with me is o'er. 
In climes above I would again, that saving hand adore. 

Kecording these thrilling and " hair-breadth escapes," 
brings them all so vividly to mind, that I seem to be iu 
the very midst of them all again. Believe me reader, I 
have seen much of the world, and passed through many 
beautiful, and some thrilling scenes in it. Haven't I? 

* Said the captain. 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 343 

• 

There are other "escapes," visibly so, which I might 
record. Suffice it to say, that at least three times have I, 
by painful and protracted diseases been sick " nigh unto 
death." And once vfas so far gone, that all consciousness 
had failed me, and up to this time, a day or two of my ex- 
istence is an entire blank — a blank never to be filled. And 
during my late and present illness, at one time I thought 
the hour had come, and that I was really dying. And 
I was, even then, happy in the hope of a sweet and 
blissful immortality in another and a better world than 
this. 0, it is not a vain thing to serve God, and that my 
soul knows right well. And how shall I sufficiently praise 
and adore that invisible hand that has sustained and pre- 
served me amid dangers so numerous and so imminent? 
For what great and good purposes of the Almighty have I 
thus been preserved, when nearly all of my youthful asso- 
ciates have j9ed and gone? And I ask myself what have 
I done in return, either to serve and please God and to 
benefit mankind ? If I have not done as much as I ought, 
and as much as I might, I do rejoice in the hope and in 
the assurance that I have not lived altogether in vain. 

As a teacher, I have strove to implant in the tender 
mind, correct moral principles and the necessity of early 
piety. I have seen my whole school in tears, and upon 
their knees crying aloud for mercy or praising God for 
pardoning grace. Some of whom are, no doubt, now in 
heaven, and others on their way thither. Who that wit- 
nessed it can ever forget the scene in my school room in 
my own neighborhood, at the close thereof, many years 
ago? precious remembrance! And others of a similar 
character are even so dear to my heart. 0, how much 
good can be done in the school room ! 

If I have not been what is commonly styled a Reforma- 
tion preacher, I have not altogether preached in vain even 
in that respect, outside of my school circle. My single 
sermon upon Mt. Abram, as referred to in my Poems, was 
owned and blessed by God, to the awakening and con- 



344 cotton's keepsake. 

version of some one-half of all that heard me on that de- 
lightful and ever memorable occasion, as they wrote me 
soon after themselves. If a man could not preach Avith 
holy inspiration upon so lofty a hight — a summit seem- 
ingly so near heaven, I know not where he could. 

Persons have often approached me with — " that sermon 
was made a great blessing to me." " I was powerfully 
awakened, and God has graciously converted my poor 
soul, and I am bound to meet you in heaven." "Bless God 
that I ever heard you — take courage and go on." A single 
instance. Several years ago, I preached at a camp meeting 
near Versailles. To say the least of it, my immensely 
large audience seemed to be well entertained and deeply 
interested. And to me it was a precious good season. 

The next year I had no sooner arrived upon the ground, 
than a very interesting young man pressed his way to me, 
with "I suppose you do not know me?" "I can not say 
that I do, although your countenance seems somewhat 
familiar to me." "Well," said he, "last year, I came to 
the camp meeting a very wicked young man. I came for 
a frolic and for fun. When you commenced preaching I 
was standing by that tree yonder in front of the stand. 
Your peculiar manner riveted my attention at once. I 
was melted to tears of deep penitence — sought God with 
all my heart, and a short time after the meeting broke up, 
my soul was happily converted, and I have longed to see 
you ever since." The salvation of a single soul is worth 
preaching and praying for a whole lifetime. But I trust 
in God that I have many such jewels to adorn my crown 
of rejoicing in " that better land." 

Finally, at a protracted and interesting meeting at 
Pleasant View, the other day, the Rev. J. B. Sparks, 
preacher in charge, and universally beloved, in relating 
his religious experience, said, that while I was preaching 
at a protracted meeting held at brother Price's, in Frank- 
lin county, many years ago, he was powerfully awakened, 
and never more found rest to his soul until God sealed a 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 345 

gracious pardon on his heart. Aside from his own soul's 
salvation, how much good has already and may yet result 
to the church and the world by the conversion and minis- 
tration of brother Sparks. Oh, I bless God for these mani- 
festations of His approbation and saving power through my 
feeble instrumentality. Surely I have not run in vain — 
neither have I preached in vain for the salvation of souls. 
Yet my great mission seems to have been to build up, to 
comfort, to edify, to confirm and establish in the truth of 
the blessed gospel of Christ. 

Peter was twice charged to feed the sheep, and once to 
feed the lambs. Good old elder Henry Header said, the 
other day, that at first he did not understand it ; he thought 
the lambs should be the better fed; but since he was 
schooled in raising sheep, it was all explained to him. 
Poorly fed sheep will have sickly, puny lambs. Sheep, 
well attended to and in good healthy condition, will raise 
healthy and vigorous lambs. Could any thing have been 
more beautifully appropriate ? And why could I not so 
have expressed myself years ago? Because, perchance, 
God never designed that any one man should say all the 
pretty things that are to be said. A soul, converted in a 
sickly, feeble state of the church, must lack good nursing, 
and will be feeble too. But when the church is in a healthy 
and vigorous state, converts are properly nursed and cared 
for, and soon become healthy and vigorous too. What a 
sermon in few words ! Then even in feeding the sheep as 
I have done, mainly, I have efi'ected a great and good work 
in the church of God, as I would fain hope and believe, and 
trust that the Great Day will so reveal it and make it 
known to the everlasting peace and bliss of my own soul, 
and the multiplied scores who have for more than forty 
years sat under my ministry. Even so let it be. Amen, 
and Amen! 



346 cotton's keepsake. 

A POLITICIAN. 
Politically I ever have been — am now — and ever expect 
to remain an advocate and supporter of the old Jeflfer- 
sonian-Jacksonian system of governmental policy, at least, 
as I do and have ever understood it. And in becoming 
a member of the church and a minister of the gospel, 
I have never felt it necessary to sacriiBce or abandon 
any of my "political rights and privileges." Conse- 
quently I have been a somewhat active, though by no 
means a "brawling politician." I have ever paid due re- 
spect to the rights and consciences of others, as expresseci 
in my National Ode, This saying all manner of unkind 
and ungenerous things against a whole party, at a ranting 
political meeting, held, perchance, on Saturday eve, and 
then on the next precious sabbath morning, meet as breth- 
ren, wounded, grieved, and estranged brethren, to worship 
God in His house of prayer, as has, alas ! too often been 
the case, always grated upon my ear, and pained my heart. 
And whatever may be my offenses and my omissions, 
surely all will bear testimony that I am clear of this. 0, 
how much Injury has the church sustained — how many 
dear brethren offended — wounded — a}'-, lost, perchance, for- 
ever, through this kind of mad political ranting? Now, 
dear brethren readers, these things ought not to be. A 
man in this free country may advocate the system of 
policy that seems best to him — may and should vote for 
it as a free American citizen, without bringing down upon 
himself the anathemas of his countrymen, much less his 
brother's unklndness and uncharitableness — his coolness, 
or his hate. ' 

'I have, however, in my time received some pretty " hard 
raps over the knuckles," both from the press and from 
the citizens of my community — nor would I hardly have 
it otherwise. A public man who pleases every body, spends 
his breath for naught, and is a blank still. Enemies and 
opposition bring out the man. It is the stricken steel that 
shows its latent spark, and iu this sense my enemies have 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 347 

done more for me than have my admiring friends, although 
my defeat and mortification was their aim. And to sup- 
pose that some whom I could name, were really as mean 
all over, inside and out, as has been their treatment to me, 
would be a total absurdity, because, if so, they must have 
suffocated long ago, by their own moral stench. But, upon 
the whole, I have much more to inspire my gratitude than 
my complaints. 

I can not well deny myself the pleasure of quoting, right 
here, a few of the many kind editorials and communications 
that have, from time to time appeared in the journals of 
the day, and I think that I record them quite as much for 
the encouragement of little obscure boys or young men, as 
for my own personal vanity and self-complacency. At any 
rate, they form a part of my history, and should not be 
withheld. Here are a few of them, and they will speak 
for themselves. 

COMPLIMENTARY NOTICES. 

"Mr. Editor: — I see that my friend, Judge Cotton, is 
on the track for the office of Recorder, at the next election, 
and with characteristic magnanimity he assures us, that 
"he has not taken the field to oppose any one," and only 
asks, in turn, that none take the field to oppose him. This 
is generous, this is reasonable ! 

Now, Mr. Editor, I am in for the Judge, decidedly ; and, 
sir, if the idea of any man having claims upon the public 
for office, is not altogether inadmissible, I claim that Judge 
Cotton's claims to the office in question, are paramount to 
those of any other man in the county; and I am satisfied 
that facts will fully corroborate the assumption. Judge 
Cotton has been a resident of Dearborn county, I presume, 
some thirty-five years. Nearly the whole of the active, 
valuable portion of his life has been devoted to the interests 
of the county and State, and, I may say, of the world; 
for the Judge's philanthropy partakes not of the selfish, or 
centripetal element, exclusively, but is essentially diffusive 



348 cotton's keepsake. 

in its character — a most harmonious combination of the 
centripetal and centrifugal forces. Ilis energies have not 
been exerted in the accumulation of wealth, or for his own 
aggrandizement, but for the benefit of mankind. In the 
several capacities of teacher, minister, judicial officer, and 
temperance lecturer, he has served his generation well and 
faithfully ; and I venture to affirm, that in the prosecution 
of these various avocations he has spent more time, made 
greater sacrifices of personal ease and comfort, and sur- 
mounted more difficulties, than any other man in Dearborn 
county has done for such objects. And by far the greater 
portion of this labor has been performed without any hope 
of remuneration, except such as is a legitimate sequence 
of a life devoted to the cause of truth and humanity. And 
now, to sum up the whole matter, I must insist, that of 
all men in the county. Judge Cotton ought to be elected 
our next Recorder. His past valuable and unrequited 
labors demand it; pecuniarily he needs it; and surely a 
grateful and appreciating public will aAvard it. So mote 
it be." 

"The meeting then adjourned, giving three cheers for 
Judge Cotton. We have been in agony about this mat- 
ter, but the agony is over. Judge Cotton will sweep all 
before him, wherever he goes, like a mighty tori-ent. We 
say to our friends abroad, Judge Cotton is the man, without 
any more delay. No time is to be lost. We can elect him 
if there are a dozen candidates in the field. 

In conclusion, we would say to the voters of Dearborn, 
*go to work at once, and in earnest. Let the watchword 
be, JUDGE COTTON, VIRTUE and VICTORY!!!^" 

" If the whigs, on a proper consideration of the matter, 
conclude to cast their votes for an independent democrat ; 
I know of no one more capable, honest, and available than 
Judge A. J. Cotton, of Manchester. The high standing 
of the Judge as an honest man, good neighbor, and chris- 
tian, points him out as the man for that high office.'' 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 349 

"The Judge was then called out to address the meeting. 
He begged to be excused, as there were a plenty of good 
speakers present, and as he had already, perhaps, addressed 
the audience a hundred times upon the subject, and that 
it would be peculiarly embarrassing at this time to impose 
himself upon the audienae, many of whom had come from 
afar to hear another gentleman of known ability, of pleas- 
ing, graceful manners, and rich and flowing eloquence. 
But it was no go. Cotton ! Cotton ! ! COTTON I ! ! was 
echoed through the hall most enthusiastically. There be- 
ing no "let up," the Judge responded to the call in one 
of his most amusing and happy strains, for some forty 
minutes. The vast assemblage was often perfectly con- 
vulsed with laughter ; and anon they were as still as death. 

His temperance picture, which is purely original, was 
finely sketched, and told well upon the cause. 'It was 
rich as cream.' " 

"Judge Cotton's Poems. — We have once or twice an- 
nounced the intention of Judge Cotton to collect the most, 
if not all of his numerous fugitive pieces which have en- 
livened the columns of newspapers for twenty-five or thirty 
years. He is getting old, yet he writes poetry with the 
beauty and elegance of earlier years. His style is his 
own, and some of his earlier productions found their way 
into the first magazines in the country. We learn that a 
thousand copies of his book are already subscribed for. We 
hope to hear of their early publication." 

"The Ruling Passion Strong in Death. — By the last 
mail we received a letter and a few verses of poetry from 
our old friend, Judge Alfred J. Cotton, of Dearborn co., 
which Mall be found in another column. 

The Judge is certainly a rare genius — possessing greater 
versatility of character than is often met with in one man. 
He is a farmer, in a small way — a preacher of the Gospel, 
a school teacher — a universal poet, for many years associate 
judge, under the old regime — afterward probate judge — 



350 COTTONS KEEPSAKE. 

a patriot who loves his country — a universal favorite at 
wedding parties, in which he had a great run, and where 
he officiated with entire satisfaction to the young folks, 
more especially as he always accompanied the marriage 
notice with an appropriate verse or two of his own com- 
posing. 

He always had a great passion for scribbling poetry, 
and we remember that, ' once upon a time/ he wrote a 
sonnet that would have done credit to Tom IIood, all about 
a lock of Gen. Jackson's hair, which the old general had 
enclosed to him in a letter from the Hermitage. 

The last time we had the pleasure of meeting him was 
at the people's convention at Indianapolis, on the 13th of 
July last. We saw then that he was rapidly passing down 
the vale of life, and that his ' work was about done.' May 
his end be peaceful and happy." 

These flattering and honorable notices which have been 
widely circulated through the periodicals of the day, and, 
to which I might add many more of the same sort, is to 
me rich reward for a lifetime, devoted to the well-being of 
the community, in the midst of Avhich my pleasant lot has 
been cast. 

THE MEANS RESORTED TO. 

Does my young reader now desire to know by what 
means I attained this honorable notoriety — this compara- 
tively lofty eminence among the public men, and poets 
and orators, and ministers, and teachers of the day? At- 
tend and you shall hear more fully what I have already 
intimated. In the first place, I remembered my Creator in 
the days of my youth, which shielded and preserved me 
from the vices and snares that otherwise might have proved 
my ruin. In the next place, I early resolved to save and 
to appropriate all my spare dimes for good periodicals and 
good books ; and all my spare hours in their perusal, in 
preference to squandering both away at the haunts of vice 
and dissipation, I have by slow, yet sure degrees, accu- 



AUTOBIOGRAPHr. 351 

mulated a small library, of some 100 volumes, which I 
regard as being only a part of the savings of rum and 

TOBACCO. 

And I am quite sure that when business has called me 
away from their perusal, I have been quite as anxious to 
get back to them again, to finish a story, a chapter, a book, 
or an investigation, as do the idle and dissolute, to get 
back to the haunts of vice and dissipation. The love of 
reading — the perusal of good books — ! what a blessing — 
what a treat ! ! and how much these things tend to develop 
the mind, and strengthen the heart in noble and honor- 
able purposes. And without pure moral virtue all is lost, 
and lost for ever. " For,'' according to the eternal rules of 
celestial precedences, in the immortal heraldry of nature 
and of heaven, ''virtue is the principal thing — it is the 
crowning excellence of mortals — it is the nobility of angels — 
it is the majesty of God." 

My fair reader, as has been beautifully said — "nature 
may have been lavish of her choicest gifts upon you — in 
form, feature, and complexion — the muses may have sung 
your praises — history may have embalmed your name, and 
your memory^ the most honorable among men, may have 
bowed at the shrine of thy love ; yet, after all, thy loveli- 
ness is not fully crowned until virtue and piety throws 
around all the power and magic of its charm." There is 
no true greatness either in male or female that is not sanc- 
tified by virtue. But I can not longer dwell. " A word 
to the wise is sufficient,'' and I proceed. 

PLEASANTRIES. 

On one of my return trips from the East, I called into 
an auction-room at Pittsburg. A set of fine teaspoons, 
worth, at least, some three or four dollars, was put up. 
*' Who bids ? how much for this beautiful set of teaspoons — 
how much? Start them at something, gentlemen ; any thing 
is better than nothing — How much ? Who will start them 
at fifty cents? At that moment, quick as thought, I re- 
sponded thus: 



352 cotton's keepsake. 

Mr. Crier, if no one bids higher, 

Then, sir, here 's your cash ; 
So pass 'em along, and I'll hush my song, 

As quick as a flash. 

" Good, sir, they are yours ; who are you ? That is worth 
a set of spoons any time.^' And amid a general murmur 
of delight, I crowded my way to the stand, took my spoons, 
and marched out in triumph. And, although we have now 
used them constantly for more than 18 years, they seem 
little worse for the wear. That surely was a felicitous 
moment; but I got matched for it in the morning — good. 
Going on board a steamboat, for a home passage, I saw 
that the captain was a jolly fellow, like myself, and so 
after a little chat I said: Well, captain, what will you 
charge to take about 2001b of Cotton snugly put up, as 
far as Lawrenceburg? Not over fifty cents, anyhow. 
Well, I think I ^11 close the contract at that. Cotton is 
my name, and that is about my weight. ! that 's it, is 
it? Yes, sir. All right said he, and before I had time to 
say Jack Robinson, he sung out ! Boys, bear a hand here — 
some more freight — stow this bale of Cotton away down in 
the hold there ! ! ! Hold on, captain, if you please, I ac- 
knowledge the com — take my hat. I love a good joke, if it 
is at my expense — and that is as rich as cream; and we 
took a good hearty laugh, and had a pleasant trip down 
the river together. If the tables were handsomely turned 
upon me then, as they certainly were, I, in turn, have often 
turned them quite as suddenly and happily upon others. 
I will record only some two or three. Presence of mind 
and ready wit, is all that can save one in such a case — 
an after-thought will not do. 

Shortly after I was elected Judge, my early and ever- 
cherished friend, Judge Dowden, who, like myself, cared 
little who had to foot the bill, so we had a little good-natured 
pleasantry, said to me in the midst of quite a crowd in 
Lawrenceburg, — Come Judge, go round home with me, it 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 353 

will not be much out of your way. I 'm all alone, and 
"poor company is better than none." Of course it was all 
understood, and there was a great yaiv haw, I found that 
I was in for it, and quick as thought I chimed in with 
"Well, Judge, there is just where you and I differ. If I 
can't have respectable, decent company, I always prefer to 
be alone. I think I'll take the other road !" " Take my hat 
Judge." And if he did not foot the bill to a hearty up- 
roarious laugh, I would not say it. And none laughed more 
loudly and heartily than he. 

At another time, when riding past a house-raising, 
and pausing to greet my friends, one after another began 
to crack their jokes, when my old friend Mr. Blovell, a 
perfect wag, full of frolic and fun, sung out, "0! Judge, 
do you recollect the time I came past your house, and you 
was skinning a cat?" I saw that I was in for it good, and 
thought quick you may depend. Not a moment was to be 
lost, and I stilled the clamorous uproar in a moment, by 
saying: Why bless me, I have not thought of it once since, 
I am right glad that you have mentioned it. Do you re- 
collect the other part of the transaction ? No, not as I 
know of All sung out, what is it Judge? let us hear. 
no, gentlemen, that would not do, as it was only a little 
confidential transaction between me and friend Blovell. 
Of course, instead of quenching, that only increased the 
flame of anxiety, for if Blovell, who was always tripping 
up others, could possibly be tripped up himself, it had to 
come. We must have it Judge — come, out with it. ! 
no, gentlemen, Mr. Blovell will take it very unkindly in 
me to divulge that little confidential matter to all this 
crowd here. no! I wont, said he, if you have anything, 
out with it. Well, then, said I, in a most significant man- 
ner, Don't you recollect that you said you had no money 
with you, but that cat was your fjivorite meat, and if. I 
would trust you with a quarter, you would be much 
obliged to me, and would surely pay me soon. And you 've 
never done so to this day. I 'm glad you called my mind 
30 



354 cotton's keepsake. 

to it, and if convenient, I should like to have you fork over. 
And then such another clapping of hands, and bursting 
of jackets, and perfect screams of laughter, you, perhaps, 
never witnessed. And poor Blovell was the worst used up 
man I ever saw. Like the boy who bust his gun, he was 
sorry that he shot that time. Why Blovell, said one and 
all, that was the meanest trick I ever heard of you, run 
in debt for a quarter of cat, and not pay for it ! how did 
you cook it? etc., etc. Blovell never said cat to me after 
that. And never were the tables more handsomely turned. 
It was certainly a rich affair in its line. 

I record these reminiscences of the past for a little spice, 
and to prompt my young readers to close and quick think- 
ing. I could add more of the kind, but as enough is better 
than a feast, I forbear at present. My whole aim and 
object is to arouse thought to active and vigorous action. 
What a pity that that most valuable endowment of the 
mind should be unheeded and uncultivated ! All the great 
and grand discoveries and improvements of the arts and 
sciences are the work and offspring of well-directed and 
closely-applied thought and investigation. 



"What is thought? It is an emanation from the Deity; 
the guide; the fear and the joy of youth; the companion 
of age ; the solace of retirement ; and the telegraph of 
worlds. Subtile in its essence, mysterious in its flight, it 
wings its silent and rapid way from sun to sun, from star 
to star, and from world to world ; onward and upward, 
careering still, it reaches the court of heaven; it takes 
fast hold of the throne of God, and encircles the universe." 
My young reader, this mighty agent, this inestimable en- 
dowment, is bestowed upon and intrusted to you for great 
and noble purposes, by your great and good Creator. 0! 
cultivate and improve it, whatever else you may or may 
not do, and rich will be your reward. 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 355 

THE FOOTING UP. 

There are a thousand other things that I should very 
much like to introduce, but time and space utterly forbid. 
A mere sketch of ray very humble, yet somewhat eventful, 
honorable, and, I would fain hope, useful life, is all that I 
have promised my friends, and is all that I can here treat 
them to, which may, in short, be footed up thus : I have, 
with my own hands, cleared up and cultivated a small 
farm; have taught school at least twelve years of solid 
time ; performed the duties of a judge, as best I could, for 
more than twelve years ; have read volume after volume 
of our standard w^orks, and many periodicals — good, bad, 
and indifferent ; have written all over, inside and out, not 
less, perhaps, than a dozen reams of paper — and that is 
some — try it who may ; to which may be added this little 
book. My poems and punnings, such as they are, are 
"legion." And, during my ministry of more than forty 
years, I must have pronounced some three or four thousand 
sermons, and surely more than one thousand temperance 
lectures, and national and special orations, and Sabbath- 
school addresses, etc., not a few. In all, say at least some 
five or six thousand public addresses, and that is no trivial 
matter, even to count, requiring much thought and exer- 
cise of mind, and, perchance, of the fingers, to arrange 
and mature, and much exercise for the teeth, tongue, and 
lips to pronounce at one letter, or syllable at most, at one 
time. The epitaph which, it is said. Lord Brougham ar- 
ranged for himself, would not inaptly apply to me: 

" Here, stranger, turn your wandering eyes — 
My tale a useful moral teaches; 
The grave in which my body lies 

Would scarce contain one half my speeches." 

To perform which, I must have traveled more miles than 
it would require to belt this mighty globe, and a large 
portion of that " afoot and alone ;" and for all this great 
"w^ork of faith, and labor of love," all told, up to the 



356 cotton's keepsake. 

commencement of my present and long-protracted illness, 
I have not received more than the value of about one 
hundred dollars, in money and presents ; an amount hardly 
sufi^cient to foot my " shoe and boot bill," in the actual 
service, to say nothing about the great wear and tear of 
body and mind, and the sacrifice of time, and neglected 
business. I have left my plow in the furrow, my scythe 
in the swath, and turned out my school, "many a time 
and oft," to respond to the calls of my afflicted friends, on 
funeral occasions, and the radius of my circular field ope- 
rations being not less than ten or fifteen mile-s, I have 
pronounced as many as five funeral sermons in a week, 
over and above my Sabbath ministrations. I do not men- 
tion these things by way of regret and fault-finding; no! 
I rather rejoice that it has ever been in my power to serve 
my friends and the community in any acceptable and 
profitable manner. I was ever happy and cheerful in the 
performance of these duties, and am now happy in the re- 
membrance of them. I record these things because they 
are true, and form parts and parcels of my own history, 
and to show how it has happened that, in this fertile 
country, while others have accumulated competency and 
wealth, I have nothing laid up in store for the infirmities 
of old age and affliction. Now, my reader, you will readily 
perceive that if one commences the world with an empty 
pocket or purse, as I did, devotes all the best energies of 
his mind and body to qualify himself for acceptable public 
services, and then works for nothing and finds himself, as I 
have done, he would be very apt to quit as he began, with 
an empty pocket or purse, just as I do. I have been con- 
tent and happy, with "food and raiment convenient for 
me and mine " — all else, both in time and money, I have 
appropriated to public good, and have trusted in God all 
the time for the future, and his promise has never once 
yet failed me. Whenever I have been sick, all that heart 
could wish has been kindly bestowed upon me, in rich and 
profuse abundance ; and I have never been so flush in 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 357 

money and means as I have been since my present illness. 
Fives and tens individually, and twenties and thirties collec- 
tively, have been thrown into my lap. It was too liberal, 
too much, and to equalize and divide the matter, is one of 
the objects of my little book, as before stated. 

But perhaps I had better conclude the history of my 
own doings and honors, before I conclude my book. In 
addition to what I have already written, I have held one 
public religious debate with the somewhat celebrated Rev. 
Mr. Emet, of the Univeralist Church. It was, as admitted 
by all, a very pretty and pleasant affiiir. Of course, I en- 
tirely used up my adversary, and if I failed in any thing, 
it was in making him and his sensible of it — "great minds 
differ." Seriously, if I live, you may yet see the contro- 
versy, and then you can judge for yourselves — so be patient. 
And then, I have held one somewhat protracted Scriptural 
temperance discussion with my friend, Elijah Huffman, 
Esq., who is some in his way of thinking upon that ques- 
tion. But then, like Brother Emet, of course, he too was 
" a used up man," if I could only have made him see it. 
I have the papers carefully preserved in this also, and may 
perchance place them into your hands before I die. That, 
too, was a kindly-conducted and pleasant affair. For the 
spice of the thing, I will just say, that when I was at Sinai 
Church, the place where we held the controversy, a short 
time since, to make a speech and to get subscribers for my 
book, friend Huffman very pleasantly inquired, at the wind- 
up of my address, if I could not notice in my book, the cir- 
cumstance of the Manchester folks once having sent over 
to him a cotton-bale to pick or gin out for them ? Of 
course, it raised quite a laugh. "0, certainly, I shall have 
that in, by all means — and that you undertook to do it for 
them ; but the Cotton, being too tough and stout for your 
gin, tore the whole thing all into slivers ;" and then the 
laugh was shifted clear round to the other corner of his 
mouth, and no mistake ; but friend Huffman took it all iu 
good part, and with a good grace. 



358 cotton's keepsake. 

If I have not fought with the beasts of Ephesus, I have 
encountered the beasts of the forest, and came off best there, 
too. Military honors early clustered round my head ; I got 
up as high as " orderly sergeant," when my ministerial 
duties excused me from all those of a military character; 
and, whether you believe it or not, immediately after I left 
the field, the whole military system sank into disrepute, 
and was at once abandoned forever, in Indiana at least — 
just think of that ! 

Well, I was the very first elected township clerk ; beat 
two good opponents, and could have beaten twice two more, 
with perfect ease. Once came within ten votes of being 
elected to the State Legislature, and, as before stated, was 
elected to the judgeship most triumphantly ; then appointed 
by the governor, and then handsomely elected again. Was 
for many years the president, and then the chaplain of the 
Dearborn County Washingtonian Temperance Society ; waa 
the first Worthy Patriarch of the Manchester Division, Sons 
of Temperance, then Deputy Grand Worthy Patriarch of 
the same, and Deputy Grand Patron of the Cadets of Tem- 
perance — a real bona fide editor — an assistant Marshal of 
the United States, in 1840 — the presiding officer at Hymen's 
court for thirty odd years, and in common parlance, have 
" married more of the young people than you could shake 
a stick at/' and am now an "Attorney and Counselor at 
Law.'' Who, then, shall dare say that mine has not been 
a very active, honorable, and useful life? If you think 
there is too much egotism in these disclosures, just set it 
down against Dr. Clark. His advice is — "Stick to your 
text, and make out Avhat you take in hand." Well, I un- 
dertook to show that I was some, in more ways than one, 
and, reader, I now leave it to you to say if I have not 
*'siuck to my text like a tick ;" and (in my own way, at 
least,) have I not clearly made out what I took in hand? 
And, seriously, I have attained to all this distinction, honor, 
and usefulness, not by courting ease, and shunning difficul- 
ties, but by boldly meeting them, and overcoming them, as 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 359 

skillful pilots -win their fame in "storms and tempests," 
and not in calms and sunshine. Truly "there is no excel- 
lence without great labor." 

To crown the climax of my self-adulation and praise, I 
have not only done much in the world, but have seen much 
of it too. I have three times floated upon the waters of the 
mighty Mississippi, and been as far south as New Orleans ; 
have been seven diiferent routes from Maine to Indiana — 
have been, more or less, in twenty-four of the States, in all 
the principal cities in the Eastern, Middle, and many of the 
Southern and Western States — all over Ohio and Indiana — 
twice into the Canadas, and as far north and east as the 
city of Montreal; and the most interesting route, I ever 
took, was down the lakes and the St. Lawrence to Mon- 
treal. Here is much to be seen that is romantic and beau- 
tiful, and made immortal in history and song: here, you 
see the mighty and world-famed Niagara; passing over the 
Rapids, just above Montreal, is a most thrilling scene; 
then there is a world of other wonders and beauties in 
nature that I have not space to enumerate. Go, all you 
that can, and see for yourselves. 

Now do n't be alarmed and shocked, friends, when I tell 
you that, in my peregrinations, " to and fro in the earth, 
and up and down in it," I actually have been all through 
England — with a prefix to it — through Switzerland — with 
a single qualification. So, also, have I been into Norway, 
actually visited Paris, Dublin, Lisbon, and Alsace ; nay, 
more, down into Egypt — at Cairo itself, and even at Athens 
and Rome. Now have I not seen sights, as well as per- 
formed wonders ? Well I just have, now. 

THE BOQUET. 

The following pleasing little reminiscence I think too 
good to be lost. While on my last visit East, I called at 
Taunton, Massachusetts, to see two dear nieces, daughters 
of my lamented brother. 0, the reception was so kind, and 
the interviews so sweet, that I seem to enjoy them even at 



360 cotton's keepsake. 

this moment! A dear nephew and brother falling in, 
sweetened the cup of pleasure. Well, nothing would do 
but I must pronounce a lecture upon temperance, which I 
did to a good large and attentive, and seemingly delighted 
audience. My friends said that it was decidedly the best 
address they had ever heard, and that their friends, in leav- 
ing the hall, had so expressed themselves. Well, now for 
the proof. About an hour after we had arrived at home, 
the bell rang, which called my friend. Hill, to the door — 
no one was to be seen, but upon the knob hung a beauti- 
ful new carpet sack, with a most beautiful garland of jBow- 
ers, or boquet, in the handle, with a note appended— "Pre- 
sented to Judge Cotton by the ladies and gentlemen of 
Taunton, who had the pleasure of listening to his beautiful 
and eloquent temperance address, this evening." On open- 
ing it, I found it full, to overflowing, with every variety of 
beautiful little tokens, such as were most convenient to 
gather up upon the spur of the moment, and at a late hour 
in the evening. I was pressed and pressed to remain an- 
other evening, when all the city was pledged to be in at- 
tendance ; but I was too smart for that : I had given them 
the cream, and had put in my " best licks," pleased my 
friends, and won a fame that I felt no disposition to jeop- 
ardize, although I could have pronounced a score more 
equally as interesting; but there is something in knowing 
just when to quit, as I did. Now I do tell you, that when 
I get a thousand miles from home, and put the cream and 
spice of a thousand addresses into a few, it makes them 
talk, and no mistake. And yet I was the greenest, awk- 
wardest, and most unpromising lad that ever attempted to 
become a public speaker. Boys, look up, you, too, may yet 
^^ perfectly astonish the natives." 

I have frequently been admonished, whatever I may do, 
not to fail giving place to my humorsome "Salt River" 
communications. But I must suppress them for three good 
reasons: 1st. For want of room ; 2d. Because they would 
now be out of time and place, and would not go off as 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 361 

merrily and enthusiastically, as they originally did. 3d. 
There were some things too personal to occupy a place in. 
"a keepsake/' which is intended for all who know me. 
And in it, I would not write one single word that could pain 
a single living soul, whether he takes my book or not. I 
hope these reasons will be satisfactory. To supply their 
place for "spicy reading," my law notice, and "fanciful 
imaginings," were, in part, introduced. And now for a 
little more ''light reading'' to "finish out" w4th, I record 

A GHOST STORY 

or two, and then I shall pass to something more generally 
interesting and important. 

Ghost stories were so common and so creditable when I 
was a lad, that I believed in their genuine existence, as 
much as I did in my own, although many of them had a 
most laughable termination, as the following will show. 
The cellars in Maine were usually divided into outer and 
inner cellars. The inner cellar was " dark as tar," except 
from the light of a lamp or candle. One of these inner 
cellars was reputed to be haunted, strange noises were heard 
there, both day and night, of that, there could be no mis- 
take. The whole neighborhood were witnesses to it, and 
those who had the hardihood to peep into the haunted 
apartment, were met with two flaming balls of fire, and 
greeted with baa-a, something like a sheep ; the balls of 
fire moved, and the courageous hero fled, confirmed in the 
conviction, that the cellar was haunted " for keeps." Weeks 
and months rolled on in fearful and agonizing suspense, 
night and day those sounds were to be heard, and those 
moving balls of fire were to be seen, and one venturing to 
gaze a single moment discovered, or, at least, thought lie 
discovered, a large set of horns. That was too much for 
endurance, and the ghost must be laid, or the house must 
be forsaken. The day was set to make the experiment. 
The Parson came, attended by many of " the faithful ones." 
Portions of the Scriptures were read, and prayers offered 



362 cotton's keepsake. 

up for guidance, for success or protection, whereupon tlio 
Parson, Bible in hand, descended with a bright and burn- 
ing lamp, followed by his trusty friends. And no sooner 
was the inner door opened, than he was met by those 
glowing balls of fire, and a kind of half baa-a as usual, ad- 
vancing a step toward it with an invocation to know who 
and what it was, and what was the cause of his super- 
natural appearance and residence upon the earth, when lo ! 
the monster made a lunge at him, full tilt, which he barely 
missed by springing aside a little, and her clmig went some- 
thing against the wall, and the next thing the parson knew 
he was seized by the skirts of the priestly gown, and lead 
into the deep and dark recesses within. For in the fright 
his lamp had fallen and gone out. And in the agony of 
despair he sung it out lustily, " Take care of yourselves 
my brethren, for he has got me and no mistake.''^ And 
such another scampering and lamentation for the fate of 
the poor pastor may be imagined, but can not be told, 
either with tongue or pen. The parson being now clear 
back into the cellar, directly saw his ghostship between 
himself and the open door, and what was his delight, and 
yet great mortification, when he found that the cause of 
so much alarm and uneasiness, was nothing more nor less 
than " a pet ram," that had fallen down into the cellar 
months before, and was supposed to be stolen or lost for- 
ever. The light falling upon his eyes made them look like 
large balls of fire, and feasting himself upon the vegetables 
day and night, accounts for the unusual noises, and being 
one of the "bunting" kind, he made a pass at the parson, 
and while gathering backward for " another lick," as is the 
nature of the animal, his broad and crooked horns got foul 
of the parsons gown, and of course he thought himself " a 
gone sucker," and fell an easy prey to " the tradition of his 
fathers." If you can read that without a good hearty 
laugh, I do n't know you ! 

Well here is one that I was in for myself, in the forest- 
home I so much love. My lady and I were spending an 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 363 

evening with her brother, shortly after he, like us, had 
settled in the forest at Manchester. A little after dark we 
heard a sharp loud rap at the door, and said, come in, 
and in the meantime opened the door, but no one was to 
be seen. Could it be that we were mistaken ? No. We 
had no sooner closed the door than rap, rap, was again 
heard. Of course we were on hand in a moment, but no one 
could be seen, nor a single footstep could be heard. The 
moon shone fitfully through fleecy clouds, yet it was quite 
light ; and all clear around his cabin — supposing some one 
had come to scare us, we both stood at the door, and at 
the first rap, we were to sally forth, and one pass around 
the house one way, and the other another. Rap, rap was 
heard just above the door-handle, out we broke, but made 
no discovery of sight or sound. Mrs. Noyes, at that par- 
ticular time thought it ominous of evil, and the wonder is, 
that it did not so terminate. This rapping, and this use- 
less search for the cause, was kept up for at least one-half 
hour or more ; and if I had not been fully set that there 
were no such things as ghosts, I should have given it up, 
and been greatly terrified. But hitting upon another plan, 
which was to go ofi" a good piece from the house, and see if 
it would rap, when I discovered, just over the door, a man. 
lying down upon the roof, just above the "butting-pole," 
as we called it. Ay, ay, my lark, I have you at last. And 
then such another yaw haw you never heard. Israel Noyes 
had climbed upon the house, with a short club in his hand, 
lay down flat just over the door, then he would reach over 
and rap, throw his arm back without the least possible 
noise, and was thus enjoying himself at our expense. Any 
one who do n't think that was some in its line, aint sharp — 
that's all. 

One "more of the same sort left." Upon a very dark 
night I went out to feed my horse, without a light — theu 
living alone in the woods. I had no sooner stooped dowu 
to gather up the fodder, which I had prepared to feed my 
horse with, than I discovered some body or some thing on 



364 cotton's keepsake. 

the opposite side of my stable. "AVho's there?" said I; 
no answer. I took a step, and saw it move again. " Sir, 
who ever you are, you had better speak, or be moving, or 
you may get hurt. Who are you V It was all no go ; the 
thing seemed to be moving along upon the logs, but not a 
sound could I hear. When all my old ghost stories came 
up, my blood fairly curdeled in my veins; my hair, for 
aught I know, stood erect, with my eyes popping from 
their sockets nearly ; and, with my heart in my mouth, I 
approached the specter, determined, if it were a ghost, I 
would know for certain. It still moved, and I tremblingly 
approached, almost ready to halloo and run. I raised my 
hand, and saw the shadow of my fingers upon the log, 
and then looking for the light, I saw that Mrs. Cotton 
had placed a lighted candle in the window for my benefit, 
which had liked to have scared me to death. The greatest 
ghost story and the biggest fright that I ever met with was 
nothing more than my own shadow, and a simple rap- 
ping upon the door; and yet they are parts and parcels 
of my life's history, and I give them as cherished remem- 
brances of the past, and for the encouragement of timid 
little boys and girls. Whenever you see any thing mar- 
velous or mysterious, have the moral courage to ferret it 
out, and all will be well. Parents, don't, don't curse 
your children with ghost stories, nor with that " great big 
black, dog." do n't — never! 

One more and I am done. Three very fine young ladies, 
of my familiar acquaintance, several years ago, started 
home, from a very pleasant afternoon's visit, just at twi- 
light; and having to cross a ten acre meadoAv, as the last 
one jumped over the fence, something jumped after her. 
She raised a scream ; the others saw it, and all set in and 
run for life, and that something after them — sometimes it 
would jump at them, and then seem to crawl along; but 
there it was still, after them. They screamed and run ; 
two of them, being more active than the other, soon left 
her in the distance ; but the marvelous something passed 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 365 

her by, and kept on after the other two, who ran about 
an even race. After the mysterious something had passed 
the third young lady, she slackened her pace, and called 
upon her friends, as they understood her, to help her find 
her knitting-work. "Knitting-work! You fool you; let 
your knitting-work go ; do n't you see he is still after us V 
And away they streaked it to the fence, but dared not stop 
to get over. Up and around with the fence they ran, and 
the ghost after them ; for by this time it was a ghost, and 
nothing else. By and by, howev^er, it made a great jump, 
and then stopped; and after awhile the girls stopped, but 
kept their eyes upon it, and singing out to their left com- 
panion to come around some other way, that there it was. 
*^I>on't you see it?" But on she came, and fell down 
close by it with a wonderful ado, a shudder, and she 
holds up the fearful monster, and then lies down and 
actually rolls over with laughing, or crying out in a most 
uproarious manner. At last the girls got together, and the 
"whole thing was explained. The knitting-work was done up, 
the needles thrust into the ball of yarn, and all thrust into 
the young ladies dress-pocket. In getting over the fence, 
the knitting fell out, and the yarn being strong, the knit- 
ting-work dragged along, and at every little twig or bush, 
would seem to hop or jump. The young lady that had 
got behind tried to stay their flight and fright by crying 
out knitting- work ; but it was no go ; they had too import- 
ant business on hand to stop for knitting-work, and on 
they ran until the knitting-work stopped, and would doubt- 
less have run themselves to death had it not stopped in 
good time. 0! how many a hearty laugh have I enjoyed 
wdiile the girls would tell this great adventure. And now, 
my young reader, you may laugh too, if you feel like it, 
and may you profit by the story. I could write volumes 
of amusing stories like these, that I know to be true, but 
I must hasten to the historical part of my work, w^hich to 
many will be much more interesting. 



366 cotton's keepsake. 

CONCLUSION. 

I almost blush when I think how much I have said about 
myself, and yet " the half has not been told.'' I have not 
spoken of my visit to, and exploration of, the far-famed 
" Cave-in-Rock," a mighty cavern on the beautiful Ohio 
river; nor of my exceedingly interesting visit to a dear sis- 
ter, at Thomaston, Maine, where I stood beside the tombs of 
the lamented Cilley, who fell in a duel with Graves, of Ken- 
tucky, and the immortal General Knox, of revolutionary and 
historical fame. Then here is the " State Penitentiary," 
which I visited with thrilling interest. My temperance ad- 
dress here did not so much overshoot the mark as it did the 
audience, which was large to overwhelming. I could write 
quite a pleasing volume about all of these things had I 
space. Nor have I dwelt upon the proud achievement 
of having once written an "Agricultural Essay" for my 
own county fair, which took the premium of fifteen dol- 
lars, against two learned, eminent, and celebrated compe- 
titors. That to me was a proud and happy effort—" killing 
two birds with one stone" — winning both "dimes and 
fame" at a single dash. But, perhaps, I have said quite 
enough already — too much, perhaps, for credence ; if so, 
the charitable regards of the reader is invoked, as also for 
all other seeming improprieties and errors with which, no 
doubt, ray book will abound. However that may be, I have 
said what I have, because it is all strictly true, and for the 
encouragement of poor, obscure little boys. If you think 
me really vain, you do me great injustice; for when I see 
how little I have done to what I might and ought to have 
done, and how imperfect and bungling have been all my 
efforts to "serve and please," I am rather humbled than 
made vain at the mention and remembrance of my very 
hest performances ; but I have written what I have thought 
best ; and now I must abide the judgment of an enlightened 
and generous public, which I do with confidence and hope. 

N. B.— I have also beheld the Genessee, the Oahoos<a, and the Lewiston 
Falls, in all their romantic grandeur and beauty. 



HISTORY, 



"DEARBORN COUNTY PANORAMA." 



PRO-LE-GOM-E-NA. 

My "Autobiographical Sketch," being of necessity very 
imperfect and incomplete, it might be proper here to state, 
that I have, to the best of my judgment, made such selec- 
tions and disposed of them in such a manner as I have 
thought would be the most pleasingly interesting and use- 
ful to my patrons and readers, taken as a wlwle and not as 
a unit. And presuming that the general reader has now 
received " the full value of his money," I devote several 
pages for the special perusal, amusement, and interest of 
my good friends of old Dearborn. If, however, the general 
reader has the time and patience to follow me through, I 
can but think that it will " pay well," after all. For such 
a picture of life — of a forest life, '■'just as it is in all its 
checkered scenes'' — of murders and suicides — of sudden and 
singular deaths — accidents and calamities — turkey, deer, 
and moose — wolf, bear, and panther — rattlesnake, copper- 
head, and Indian stories, all mixed up and blended together 
in one harmonious and true picture, has never been drawn 
or painted, either by tongue, pen, or pencil, from creation's 
dawn, by a single living mortal, as before stated. That 
seems to have been left for me, and me alone. Historians 
generally talk and write about states, kingdoms, and em- 
pires—of wars, revolutions, and conquests, etc. I speak 
of little things, of which the whole is made up — " gather 
Up the fragments that nothing be lost." My history is 

367 



368 cotton's keepsake. 

not located in some far-off clime, but light here in our 
very midst, within sight and hearing; — Ayithin the know- 
ledge of many of my readers of old Dearborn. And I 
have assigned to each city, toAvn, village, and neighbor- 
hood its proper share. When, however, I name a certain 
place, as " Manchester," the men and things there recorded 
are not to be understood as being right in the place, 
but contiguous to it. This arrangement will save much 
needless repetition, and yet locate all things with sufficient 
exactness and certainty. 

I had originally intended to classify into separate and 
appropriate chapters all my Indian, snake, wolf, bear, and 
panther stories, etc. ; but as such an arrangement would 
also require much repetition, and of course much space, I 
have, upon more mature deliberation, concluded to throw 
them in promiscuously, as they have and loTiere they have 
occurred. Much of which my humble efforts will rescue 
from total annihilation and "everlasting forgetfulness." 
And upon that score, alone, if for nothing else, I can but 
think my little book will be worth many times the price 
I ask for it. How else shall the generations yet to come, 
or even our own children and grandchildren ever realize 
that the very sites of our beautiful cities and villages — our 
school-houses and churches, nay, the very spot, perchance, 
where they now stand, sit, or lie, while reading these pages, 
were once occupied by "the red men of the forest," "the 
hissing and deadly serpent," and " prowling beasts of prey ? " 
And what is true of old Dearborn, is generally true of all 
the counties in the State — of the entire West, and, indeed, 
of the continent, and of the whole world. And, therefore, 
my little book is intended to interest all who may chancQ 
to read it, any and everyicliere. And as such it is hoped 
that it will receive a liberal patronage and a widespread 
circulation, as before expressed. 

History, says Eo/iin, has always been sanctioned by, and 
considered as the light of ages — the safe depository of im- 
portant events — the faithful advocate of truth — the reliable 



HISTORICAL. 369 

source of prudence and good counsel — the rule of correct 
deportment and good manners — it iSxes the seal of immor- 
tality upon all good words and good actions — and sets a 
mark of infamy upon all that is erroneous, corrupt, and 
vicious, and that so indelibly, that after ages can not either 
blot out or obliterate it — it is a school of* morality open 
and free to all mankind — it is the precept of moral philoso- 
phy, reduced to practice, tested, and established by age 
and experience." I repeat, then, that this portion of my 
•work must be somewhat valuable, whatever may be said 
of the balance. 

And I take occasion, just here, to remark, that I would 
by no means wantonly inflict pain upon innocent relatives 
and friends in any reference I have already or may here- 
after make in furnishing a true and faithful history of 
the times, the incidents, and the occurrences which I record. 
And, with others, I have presumed to hope ihvit few would 
refuse to undergo such a trial and mortification of their 
feelings, if by that means a timely admonition — a whole- 
some warning may be given to those who stand in need 
of it, and who thereby may be preserved and saved to 
themselves, to their friends, to their common country, and 
saved, too, soul and body, in heaven at last. This, then, 
is the only object and aim I hope to accomplish by snatch- 
ing them from the hand of oblivion, and of perpetuating 
and publishing them to the world. 

Doubtless I shall omit many items and incidents quite 
as important and interesting as any that I have gathered 
up from observation or by inquiry. And, if so, it will be 
more the fault of those who Tcnoiv and who are interested 
therein than it will or can be the fault of the author. For I 
have everywhere requested all to furnish me any and every 
item of information coming within the range of my proposed 
publication. Some incidents which I have recorded are 
located contiguous to, but just over the county boundaries 
The index will direct each reader to his OAvn location for the 
local history thereof. Having preD"\ised thus much, I pass. 



370 cotton's keepsake. 

As I passed around, making speeches and getting sub- 
scribers, I kept a regular journal of the places that I 
* visited, and of the incidents, etc. : and now, my kind reader, 
you will please follow me through my somewhat lengthy 
and prosy ^ 

JOURNAL. 

From Mrs. Barbara Cheek, widow of Nicholas Cheek, 
now one hundred and two years old— the oldest person now 
living in the county, and smart and vigorous still — I learn 
that the first little shanty ever erected by a white man, 
within the boundaries and territory of old Dearborn, was 
about the year 1794 ; that she and her deceased husband 
were the fourth family. Mr. George Groves, Mr. Benja- 
min Walker, father of the Honorable Henry Walker, and 
Mr. Ephraim Morrison, father of the Honorable Samuel 
Morrison, had arrived just before them. Her narration 
is full of thrilling incidents, and, if fully written out, 
would make quite a volume, more deeply interesting than 
I dare hope that mine will be. A few poles, set up on 
forks, and covered with bark, constituted their first and 
lone habitation in the wilderness. Surrounded, both by 
day and by night with "■ howling beasts of prej^" which 
were held at bay or put to flight by " fire and flame" and 
the use of "powder and lead," Avell appropriated and ap- 
plied. The Indians, though withholding *' the tomahawk 
and scalping-knife," would seize and carry off any and 
every thing that might chance to please their fancy, either 
to eat, drink, or wear — would sometimes try to terrify and 
intimidate them by reporting some of their own acts of 
horrid barbarity and cruelty. One time, three of them 
carried this matter so far, that her husband, "Old Nick," 
as he was familiarly called, could stand it no longer. His 
brother, Tavner, being present, he rose up, squared himself 
for the onset, and then, with his bony Jist and sinewy arm, 
felled the main speaker at a blow, like a slain bullock, 
gave him "a good sound drubbing," and then ordered him 
to make tracks soon. Ho,, forthwitb, gathered himself up 



HISTORICAL. 371 

and put out, but shortly after returned with a company of 
eight, all painted as a signal for sanguinary vengeance 
"Where is Nick?" said the}^ "Gone away." "No, he 
hid — we must have him," and thereupon they commenced 
a thorough search for him. Meanwhile the old lady con- 
trived, by sign, or signal, or messenger, to inform old 
Judge Watts, father of Hon. Johnson Watts, who had 
charge of a small garrison, just over the river, where 
Petersburgh now stands. He came to the rescue, with 
eighteen men — took the Indians by surprise, in the 
midst of their fruitless search, ordered them to wash and 
be off immediately, or take the consequence. The order 
was promptly obeyed, and thus a tragic and cruel scene 
prevented. 

I knew Old Nick " like a book ;" he was a great, big, 
double-fisted, " knock-do wn-and-drag-out" sort of a man — 
the very man for such a daring act — rather fight than eat, 
any time, unless he was very hungry. These things oc- 
curred just above the beautiful city of Aurora, near by the 
Great Lick. Such, then, was the commencement of the 
white settlements in old Dearborn. 

Mrs. Cheek also informed me that, at first, they pounded 
all their corn, when they had any — lived mostly on game, 
which was abundant and readily taken, together with roots, 
nuts, and acorns — that she spun, and Avove, and wore cloth 
made out of the wild nettle, prepared as we usually pre- 
pare hemp or flax ; and that she also gathered and pre- 
pared the materials herself 

What do you think of that, girls? Our pioneer mothers! 
0, what hardships and perils they encountered, as well as 
did our pioneer fathers in settling, and subduing, and im- 
proving this county which is now so finely cultivated and 
so beautiful. Mother Cheek — venerable woman! — is well 
provided for, and lives at her ease with her grandson, 
Stroder Cheek. Let that suffice. 



372 cotton's keepsake. 



FERRIS SCHOOL-HOUSE, 

So called in honor of old Col. Abram Ferris, a man of 
wealth and fame, who resided in tlie neighborhood — was 
once an honored representative of the county in the State 
Legislature, but has recently passed from earth away, 
honored, bemoaned, and missed. Here, too, was the resi- 
dence of the lamented George H. Dunn, favorably known 
all over the State and throughout the Union, as an effi- 
cient member of the Congress of the United States. "We 
have few such men as was George II. Dunn, Hon. G. P. 
Buell, Dr. McCullough, P. L. Spooner, of legal notoriety, 
and Abram Rollen, all men of worth and distinction, do, 
or did, reside here. Mr. Rollen nearly lost one of his 
hands by a hay screw, and would have quite but for the 
skillful treatment of my friend, Dr. Brower. He thinks 
there is no such man as Dr. Brower, and well he may. 

Two men — strangers — have been found dead here; but 
how thoy came to their death remains a sealed book. I 
must not omit to record the name of my very kind and 
cherished friend, Robert Duck, nor of his very estimable 
and intelligent widow, Mrs. Duck, nor of her only and kind 
son, Robert, all of whom I claim as special friends of mine, 
loved and cherished truly; and the same just tribute I 
here accord to my friend, Wm. Hamilton, and family. Nor 
can I fail to acknowledge my personal obligations to my 
lamented friend, Barkdoll, and family, for the great kind- 
ness shoAvn me when I taught school in their district, years 
ago. The children, too, were exceeding kind and dutiful, 
and my little Caroline, now Mrs. , was almost an ex- 
ception. These things I never can forget. Well, here too 
is my good old friend, Thomas Annis, a real pioneer, a 
most excellent man, with a most excellent and intelligent 
family, surrounded by all the comforts and conveniences 
of life ; and the same may be said of good old father Ma- 
son, father Hibbites, and families, etc. Friend Danford 



HISTORICAL. 373 

and others have removed, and the blessing of their friends 
abide with them. 

HARDENSBURGH. 

Here lived and died the venerable General Zebulon Pike, 
of revolutionary and historical notoriety — honored in life, 
and lamented in death. Soon that valorous band of patriots 
will all have passed away; peace to their memory and their 
dust. Anderson F. Gage, my early friend, and son-in-law 
to the lamented general, lives here, in honor and in peace, 
enjoying an abundance of the good things of this life — 
cheered and cared for, in the time of his bereavement and 
affliction, by as kind good sisters as ever blessed a brother. 
He also has many Indian trinkets and curiosities — beads 
which he took with his own hands from the necks of skele- 
tons, which he exhumed in plowing his own fields. They 
are a curiosity, to say the least of them, and evince skill 
and ingenuity in a savage state. Such evidences of a 
former race are abundant all around this region. 

My friend, Samuel Morrison, one of the best men, best 
scholars, and prettiest scribes, son of Ephraim Morrison, 
a first settler, suffered the amputation of a leg, under the 
influence of chloroform, without sensation of pain. 0, the 
wonders of the age! What will not science yet accomplish? 
Mrs. Lancaster was here thrown from a runaway horse, and 
had her leg broken, and the bone fairly pinned her to the 
earth; and yet the skillful management of Dr. Brower and 
a kind providence preserved both " life and limb." A man 
by the name of Dodd hung himself in the county jail. 
Good old father and mother Rabb, and Brown, and Miller, 
and Guard, Levi Miller, Ezra Gard, and John Morrison, all 
excellent men and women, early settlers, have passed from 
earth away, to *' a better inheritance above," without a 
single doubt. John Morrison was a mechanical genius 
truly ; invented the hay-screw, that has revolutionized the 
entire west. The first one was laid off" with square and 
compass, and a spiral line, and cut with a chisel. Com- 



374 cotton's keepsake. 

pared with those of the present day, it was a coarse, un- 
gainly thing, like Fulton's first steamboat; but then it 
possessed all the merit of originality, and won for the 
originator everlasting gratitude and enduring fame. 

Mrs. Sarah Bonham, daughter of old Father Guard, and 
sister to my friend, Bailey Guard, who has lived all her 
days, nearly, in and about the Big Bottom, informs me that 
savage tribes of Indians, and hoAvling beasts of prey, clus- 
tered all around and about "the paths her infant feet have 
trod ;" that she once run afoul of a great big black bear in 
going to the stable ; that she made haste to report ; that 
dogs and men were soon in hot pursuit ; and Bruin, for his 
presumption, paid the forfeit of his life ; that her father 
once wanted just two dozen turkeys for the Cincinnati mar- 
ket; said he would shoot all just in the left wing, and let 
his trusty and well-trained dog pick them up ; that he soon 
returned with his full complement, every single one of which 
had the bone of the left wing broken, and not a single wound 
beside. This shows how plenty such game was in those 
days, and what ** sharp-shooters " our sturdy pioneers 
■were. 

Here the sainted good old Father Jones, an early and 
an efficient minister of the gospel of Christ, met with a 
fearful runaway, but was, as by miracle, through faith 
and prayer, saved from harm. I seem to hear him tell 
the story now. And here, too, my cherished pupil, Mrs. 
West, daughter of my early friend, Walter Hays, was 
thrown from her carriage, and taken up a mangled and 
bleeding corpse. — See "Lament." Here my saipted father- 
in-law, Noyes, lost a fine horse overboard and drowned, in 
being ferried across the Miami, and horses, wagon and 
all swept away by a strong current, in attempting to 
ford Tanner^s Creek ; lost one horse, and escaped death 
himself only as "by the skin of his teeth." How true it 
is tliat " dangers stand thick all through the ground," etc. 
My old and early friends, Joseph and Jacob Hays, have 
my lasting gratitude for personal and kind favors; the 



HISTOEICAL. 375 

latter of whom has had the misfortune to lose his sight. 
May he, "by the eye of f\iith/' 

" read bis title clear 

To mansions in the skies." 

NEW LAWRENCEBURG. 

Here was the early residence of the lamented Stephen 
Ludlow, a gentleman of wealth and honest fame. And 
here, too, early settled and long resided the Rev. Benjamin 
Fuller, a somewhat eminent local minister. If he was 
" rather slow of speech," his words were the words of 
wisdom. He has sought him a new home in the "far 
west," where he still survives, full of years and full of 
honors. And here, too, reside my Maine friends, David 
Woodward and his kind good lady, blessed with an intel- 
ligent and interesting family. Their daughter Sarah, now 
Mrs. Heifer, of whom favorable notice was made in my Ode 
to the Dearborn County Fair, took the first diploma ever 
accorded to any one by the " Lawrenceburg Literary In- 
stitute ;" a distinction as meritorious as honorable. And 
here, too, I must make honorable mention of my kind 
friends, Mr. and Mrs. Stevens. A Mrs. Finch, now living 
in Hartford, informed me the other day, that, in very 
early times, she occupied a little log-cabin right in the 
midst of this town (then a Mrs. Walden) ; that she had 
herself often shot turkeys (and I think deer, too,) out of 
her door and windows ; the Indians encamped all around 
her; that they once struck up "a shooting-match" close 
to her door ; that she loaded her piece, walked out, asked 
and obtained permission to fall into the ring, and take 
part in the pleasant pastime ; that, when her turn came, 
she "drove the center" to a hair, and made the very best 
shot, which so pleased and amused the old chief, that he 
patted her upon the shoulder, saying, "Good squaw, good 
squaw ;" and then made her a present of a beautiful kind 
of a shawl. There is a pioneer lady for you worth talk- 
ing about — a story worth being told and preserved, which, 



376 cotton's keepsake. 

but for me, would have been lost for ever. Turkey, and 
deer, and Indians SAvarmed right in the very heart of New 
Lawrencebui'g ! What a change, what a mighty change a 
single half century has made! "Be astonished, O heaven! 
and wonder, earth !" Here was held that ever-memora- 
ble campmeeting, at which time and place the sainted 
Jacob Blasdell set the "temperance ball'^ in motion. — 
(See Reflections, etc.) 

And here, too, is the residence of Moore Holden, world 
renowned for his patent millstone dress ; one of the won- 
derful improvements of the age. Mr. Holden stands enroll- 
ed high upon the scroll of fame, beside John Morrison, as 
one of the benefactors of the age. Several years ago a little 
sou of his was missing, and nowhere to be found, though 
diligently sought for with prayers and tears. A notice in 
a Madison paper, some time after, of a little boy, found 
dead in the Ohio river, arrested his attention, when lo! his 
lost one was found cold in death. At play in the creek, it 
fell in and was drowned, and drifted thus far away. Poor 
little dear, early taken from the evil to come. And here 
follow tragedies upon tragedies. A Mr. Chyle, principal 
clerk in the distillery, was torn all into shreds by being 
caught in the machinery. A fine scholar, an excellent man, 
but engaged in a bad business, and died in a bad cause. 
Another man was scalded to death in the distillery, which 
was subsequently consumed by fire — a total loss. 

John Daniels was run over by his own horses and wagon, 
mangled, and taken up a breathless corpse. Abial Baker 
fell dead in the street with an apoplectic shock. A gentle- 
man and lady in crossing the pond upon the ice, fell through 
and perished together. Thomas, a son of Joseph, and a 
brother to Sewell Plummer, a lad of some ten years, fell 
out of his skifi", and was drowned in the pond, also. The 
dwelling house of Father Noyes, the one in which I was 
married, was consumed by fire ; but no lives lost, through 
mercy. A stranger had his thigh so crushed, that it was 
thought by the physicians in counsel, that amputation 



HISTORICAL. o / / 

was unavoidable ; but Dr. Harding said the fractured bones 
were all in place, and he would assume the responsibility 
of saving both life and limb, and did it handsomely. I 
saw the gentleman after the point of danger was safely 
passed, and a more happy and grateful man I never saw. 
And, like friend Roland, he thought there was no such man 
this side of the big water, nor on the globe, as Dr. Hard- 
ing. And no marvel, surely. At the jollification of the 
erection of the toll-bridge over Tanner's Creek here, a can- 
non exploded, mangling and killing my neighbor and 
friend, John Rounds and a Mr. Price, and fearfully wound- 
ing a Mr. Sherod. ! how many such accidents occur by 
the useless *' thunder of the muttering cannon " — by un- 
skillful cannoniers. I have yet several similar cases to re- 
cord. " ! that men would be wise." And yet the crowning 
tragic scene is yet to be told. A Mr. Nicholas Evans and 
a Mr. William Wells, a colored man of my intimate ac- 
quaintance, had a misunderstanding about something which 
Wells so explained as to give Evans entire apparent satis- 
faction. Wells turned away and sat down. Evans, there- 
upon, slipped noiselessly up behind him, caught him by 
the hair of his head, drew it back suddenly, and then with 
a large and sharp pocket-knife, at one fell swoop, cut his 
throat from ear to ear ; and he weltered in his gore a breath- 
less corps. Evans fled, was pursued, subsequently taken, 
brought back, tried and sentenced to several years of im- 
prisonment at hard hibor in the Penitentiary, where he is 
noio, and in part paying the penalty of his rash, and bloody, 
and murderous and malicious act. How true it is, that 
"the ways of transgressors are hard,'' leaving out of the 
account the retributions of the future and coming "judg- 
ment of the great day." What a picture of real life is here 
presented in the history of a single little village or town. 
AW fact and no fiction, and to which much might be added, 
but I can not longer dwell, and must pass by paying a 
just tribute to my most worthy friend, John I. French, now 
an honored, and useful citizen of Ohio County. 
32 



378 cotton's keepsake. 



LAWRENCEBURG CITY. 

On the 10th day of December, 1818, I first landed at 
Lawrenceburg, then a small village, mostly of log cabins, 
and timber houses. Now it is quite a city of taste, wealth, 
and beauty. No city in the range of my acquaintance has 
had as many difficulties to encounter, and so nobly met 
them, as the city, or rather citizens of Lawrenceburg. The 
elevation of their streets, and their embankments to guard 
against, and to prepare for flood and overflow, is a living 
wonder, and a monument of enduring praise. And, though 
deserving a better fate, she is, after all, unfortunate in the 
termination, both of her railroads and canals. She never- 
theless has large business houses, and one of the finest 
churches in the State. 

Here Warren was murdered, and here Fuller was hung. 
(See ballad.) I shall refer to this subject yet again. Here 
the little son of my friend Stephens, came suddenly to an 
untimely and tragical end. Here the young lady deliber- 
ately walked out into the beautiful Ohio and perished, poor 
girl! from her own rash act. (See ballads.) The falling of 
the bridge erected across the Miami, was a miracle of 
wonders. Thronging with busy workmen, the whole fabric 
was precipitated suddenly to the depth of some fifty feet in 
a cumbrous mass of ruins, and yet only two men were killed, 
and some few slightly injured. The like before, I think, 
was never known. Wonderful interposition, most surely I 
The courthouse, and all the public records were consumed 
by fire many years ago, •u'hich was a great and general 
calamity, resulting in a great deal of litigation, ill will, 
disquietude and loss. The fine mansion-house of my friend, 
Wm. T. Ferris and others, have also been consumed by fire. 
Mr. F. Craft, many years ago, in passing along the street, 
stepped upon a stone that rolled from beneath him, and he 
suddenly fell backward upon the pavement and broke his 
skull, and was gathered up a quivering corpse ; verifying, to 
the very letter, the truthfulness of that divine saying, 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 379 

** There is but a step between me and death," A Mr. 
Askew, merchant, was suddenly killed by the falling of 
his storeroom in a mighty tempest, or sweeping tornado. 
Here I saw a colored man hit with a brickbat, which was 
intentionally hurled at him — he groaned, and staggered, and 
fell. It was thought, by some, that he was feigning it all, 
so said the colored man who hit him. Just at that time Dr. 
Harding chanced to be passing along the street, and like 
" the good Samaritan," he paused and examined the fallen 
man. Gentlemen, said he, this is no sham, the man is 
actually dying, and will be a corpse soon ; directed him to 
be forthwith taken home, where he died in a few hours. 
At the report of Dr. Harding, the murderer forthwith fled, 
and so far as I know, has never been heard of since. A 
little son of my most excellent friends, George B. Sheldon 
and lady, lost a hand, nearly, by a " cutting machine." 
Since I became acquainted with Br. Sheldon, no one man 
in all the West, has done a better, or a more liberal part 
by me. His house has been my kind and welcome home, 
yes, I know that it has been welcome. And dollar after 
dollar has he voluntarily placed into my hands, and some- 
times, several at once. Subscribed for six copies of my 
book, one for every single member of his family, and paid 
all in advance. I have few friends like G. B. Sheldon and 
lady, and I embalm their names in my book, as it is in 
my heart and memory. 

And here, too, resides my excellent friend. Dr. Harding, 
whose house is also my welcome home, where every kind- 
ness and respect is shown to me that a friend could ask. 
Under God I owe my life to Dr. Harding, for kind and 
skillful professional treatment during a severe and danger- 
ous illness, many years ago. And then I owe him a debt 
of lasting gratitude for the reasonableness of his bill, and 
the lenity and forbearance shown me. Dr. Harding is 
justly celebrated as one of the best physicians in our com- 
munity. I say one of them, for we have many who are 
justly eminent and celebrated. Doctor, excuse me if I 



380 cotton's keepsake. 

use your history to inspire hope in the bosom of obscure, 
nay, even in forbidding little boys. The Doctor was raised 
in the " Ripley Slashes," and while a little barefooted boy, 
"was badly bitten by a copperhead. Why, bless me if I 
haven't got the doctor right into my book, all barefoot, 
too. Ah, me ! what shall I do now ? AVell, I suppose I 
might just as well make the best of it, and let it go. Well, 
he was snakebitten, and if he had died, perhaps every one 
would have said, better be him than any other lad in the 
community, because he was a poor, near-sighted boy. But 
the result shows that they could better have spared any 
other boy, for in him was garnered up the germs of a 
strong mind and a useful man. And if there is any merit 
in the truly " self-made man," the doctor is entitled to it 
in an eminent degree. And we have " self-made ladies," 
as well as "self-made men," and the doctor's excellent 
lady is surely one of them. Raised in the forest by the 
side of me, she has, by dint of personal application, un- 
aided almost altogether by schooling facilities, made her- 
self learned and useful, loved and honored, and now holds 
a high position in the bright galaxy of female writers and 
poets, and has made herself worthy of all praise and all 
imitation, and is blest with sweet, dear children, and a 
happy home. And the kind hospitalities of that neat, 
pretty, happy home I have oft enjoyed, and gratefully ac- 
knowledge it here again. 

Reader, you must pause a moment. My impertinent 
muse is clamoring for something, and will not be put off. 

Well. Mr. Muse, what do you want ? I want to sing 
an acrostical lay to Mrs. Harding. A lay to Mrs. Har- 
ding, indeed ! Now you know you can't hegin to sing 
an acrostical lay worthy of Mrs. Harding. Yes, 1 know 
that, but then I can show my good will. Yes, and "get 
me into a snap," offend Mrs. Harding and the doctor, turn 
up Jack, and play the mischief, eh? Well, just let me 
try— "a half loaf's better than no bread." AYell, as 
you 've been so trusty and faithful to me all your days, 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 381 

you may try this once and see what you can do. Good, 
and here goes — ■ 

My slumbering harp awake 
Resume thy wonted lays, 
Sing of the fair, 

Let virtue mind and grace 

Unite to find a place 

Close in each heart. 

Ye friends of "moral worth," 
Sing not of " royal birth," 

However high. 

All will in this agree, 

Reader, say is not she 

Deserving more, 

In whom the graces dwell? 

No fame can that excel, 

"Gained by meriV^ 

Well, now you have done it ! I told you so ! I knew 
you would only spoil it ! Is that the best you could do 
for so deserving a lady as Mrs. Harding? Aint you 
ashamed of yourself? Don't ever attempt to interfere 
again unless you know that you have something on hand 
better than that. I'll try and forgive you this time, how- 
ever, though I fear Mrs. Harding and the doctor will 
7iever forgive me. 

Before I farther proceed, I will close the chapter of acci- 
dents and tragedies. The beautiful Protestant College that 
sat upon a beautiful eminence, just back of this city, was 
utterly consumed by fire many years ago, and the enter- 
prise abandoned for ever. Sad calamity. 

My friend Squire Anderson was thrown from his horse, 
which, with a sharp corked shoe, set foot right fair in his 
face, cut his nose entirely off just below the eyes, and 
smashed it all " as flat as a pancake." It was a fearful 
sight and as ghastly a wound as I ever saw, yet by the 
tskillful treatment of Dr. Fuller, it all healed up with 



382 cotton's keepsake. 

scarce a perceptible scar, so that the squire has' still a very 
respectable " handle to his face,'' and as nice a little wife 
as stands on foot anywhere. 

A son of Mr. James Armstrong, on a pleasure tour over 
the river, was accidentally shot by one of his young com- 
panions, brought home in great agony, and died soon. 0, 
what an affliction to parents and friends. 

A Mr. Goulding, while passing over the river in the ferry 
boat, to escape an arrest, (I believe) said that no man could 
take him — that he carried a body guard with him in the 
shape of a revolver, which he undertook to show, but by 
some means, in drawing it from his pocket it went off, 
and he received the charge in his thigh, fracturing the 
bone in a fearful manner, above the possibility of an 
amputation, and he lingered a few days in great agony, 
and died. Oh, boys, the protection of a good moral 
character is much safer and much better than dirks, bowie- 
knives, and pistols. 

John F. Lane, son of the Hon. Amos Lane, deceased, and 
brother to G. W. and J. H. Lane, of Mexican and Kansas 
notoriety, a West Point cadet, and lieutenant in the United 
States army, a young man of great hope and promise, both 
to his country and to his friends, for reasons " for ever 
sealed up,'' in the very dawn of his brilliant and hopeful 
career, deliberately fell upon his own sword in the most 
possibly scientific manner, and was a corpse in a moment, 
without a struggle or a groan. But his sainted mother 
went down to her grave sorrowing for him. 

For a little relief, I will now introduce the reader to my 
early and good friends. Dr. Brower and lady, and to his 
tasty and beautiful residence, and to his very neat, pretty, 
pattern garden. The doctor early befriended me, got me up 
a school, at Elizabethtown, aided me in passing my school 
examination, and in some sense, was the very maker of me. 
I owe him an everlasting debt of gratitude, as does the Noyes 
family, for professional services, which we shall never be 
able to repay. I need not here say that Dr. Brower is one 



HISTORICAL. 383 

of the most justly-celebrated physicians and surgeons in our 
midst. He approaches the sick-bed, and uses the knife with 
a grace and ease peculiar to himself And now, if you 
would again see things done up in real " apple pie" order, 
and "neater than a pink," just call on my friends, John 
Callahan and his good lady; and for a little more of the 
same sort, just call on Mr. and Mrs. Omar Tousey — put up 
for the night at B. T. W. S. Anderson's, and, if you aint 
sick, you'll relish your breakfast well — the danger is that 
you '11 " eat yourself sick," not knowing how or when to 
quit. 

I have failed to mention many persons and things worthy 
of note, because I have not the room to spare, nor even to 
do half justice to those persons and things of which men- 
tion is made. 

The old pioneers are nearly all gone. The Kev. Dr. Fer- 
ris was an excellent and useful man, and his " memory is 
precious." Gen. James Dill, Hon. Amos Lane, Dr. Perci- 
val, John Gray, David Guard, AV alter Armstrong, and my 
ever-cherished friend, James W. Hunter, Esq., one of the 
best magistrates and best majors, and the most graceful 
man on parade in all the land. My venerable friend, 
Judge Dunn, seems to stand alone. His history is one of 
thrilling interest and high honors. When quite a youth, 
being over on the Point, as it is called, he crossed the Mi- 
ami, with two other persons, in search of stray stock. Night 
coming on, the other men thought best to strike up a lire 
and encamp for the night ; which they persisted in doing, 
in spite of all the remonstrances of their young companion, 
Mr. Dunn, who told them it would not be safe. He, there- 
fore, left them for home, all alone, with the promise that he 
would be on hand again early in the morning. AVhen, lo ! 
he found both of his friends cold and stiflf in death ; toma- 
hawked and scalped — stripped and robbed ! What a nar- 
row escape by youthful foresight and caution ! The judge 
has held many posts of honor and trust in the community ; 
and when he shall have been gathered to the land of his 



384 cotton's keepsake. 

fathers, his name and his memory shall not perish, but be 
embalmed in the hearts of his friends and countrymen, 
and, in the pages of history, shall be immortal. (See Ap- 
pendix.) 

I should very much like to pay a special and just tribute 
to all of the attorneys, the clerks, and sheriffs of my court, 
residing here; but space utterly forbids. Suffice it to say, 
that they were all very kind, competent, and efficient, and 
occupy a warm seat in my affections, and are engraven upon 
my memory as vrith "an iron pen." As clerk, C. O'Brien 
stands number one, all the time, against the State and 
against the world ; and so does my friend, Milton Gregg, as 
sheriff — now the able and effective editor of the " New Al- 
bany Tribune." 

So much, then, for the city of Lawrenceburgh, and I pass, 
with a grateful acknowledgment, to the Rev. Mr. Long, the 
stationed minister, whose labors God has singularly owned 
and blessed, and who is very highly appreciated and 
esteemed by the people of his charge, as is also the Rev. 
Dr. Bond, pastor of the Baptist church. No neglect or dis- 
respect is intended to be shown to my highly esteemed 
friends, Dr. Tait and Dr. Weedlestaedt, now of Minnesota, 
in speaking so fully and freely, as I have, of those "with 
whom I have had more to do." 

AURORA CITY. 

Here is to be seen the splendid mansion of the Hon. 
Henry Walker, my early and my personal friend. A gen- 
tleman of great moral excellence and literary fame. He is 
usually noticed by journalists as " the great western ora- 
tor." Mr. Walker's manners are peculiar to himself; he 
apes no man, and so far as I know, no public speaker ever 
attempted to ape him. He is an original oddity, and must 
be seen and heard to be rightly appreciated. He would, 
perchance, exceed the expectations of some, and fall below 
that of others, just according to the tastes and fancies of 
his auditors. He has a vast library of books, which his 



HISTORICAL. 385 

addresses show have not been altogether neglected. His 
father being the first settler, he, of course, is one of the 
oldest inhabitants of the county, and has received many 
public honors at the hands of his fellow-citizens. His good 
lady is a native of Maine, whence I hail. I know her 
family and friends to be highly honorable and respected. 

Messrs. Haynes and Holm an, attorneys at law, and of 
eminent distinction, will please appropriate to themselves 
the kind sentiments and remembrances tendered to gentle- 
men of the bar at Lawrenceburgh. Here was the resi- 
dence of that sainted and good man, the Rev. Judge Jesse 
L. Holman, the honored father of Wm. S. Holman, so ex- 
tensively known and respected as a man, an attorney, and 
a politician. 

The eminent Dr. Sutton and Dr. Bond, and Dr. Haynes, 
my kind personal friends, reside here, justly loved and highly 
appreciated. Here, too, reside the Hon. Judge Emory, Y/m, 
R. Green, and Wm. T. Harris, Esqrs., T. and J. Taylor, Cham- 
bers and Stevens, the Gaffs, Cobbs, and Lozier, merchants of 
fame and fiirness — all my kind personal friends. Nor can 
I possibly pass unnoticed Messrs. Sewall and Samuel Plum- 
mer, and Wra. Jipson, and their good ladies and inter- 
esting families, formerly my kind and excellent neighbors 
and fellow-townsmen, and ever loved and cherished friends. 
I have known them long, and love them dearly. 

Here, as before noticed, is the beautiful residence of my 
good and worthy friend, Stroder Cheek, and the home of 
the venerable old Mother Cheek, the oldest person in the 
county, and, for aught I know, in the State. Here George 
Cheek, the father of Stroder and brothers, was found to be 
missing. Every possible search was made in vain, a libe- 
ral reward offered for his discovery, dead or alive, and 
after many months of painful anxiety, he was discovered 
in the creek — recognized by his apparel, and forthwith 
found a decent and appropriate burial. My lamented 
friends, John R. Watkins, a Mr. Bailey, and a Mr. Squibb, 
were horribly mangled by the explosion of a powder keg, 
33 



386 cotton's keepsake. 

on a pleasure and celebration trip on the St. Louis rail 
road, survived a short time in great pain, and died. Per- 
haps five perished, and several others were slightly injured, 
among whom was a Mr. James Reading. Aurora lost some 
of her best citizens, which she deeply deplored. 

A man fell through the bridge, and was found a corpse. 
Another one walked out into the river, then put a pistol into 
his mouth, and fell a bleeding and mutilated corpse in the 
beautiful Ohio. Another man, after trying both to hang 
and shoot himself, but was discovered and arrested, delibe- 
rately threw himself into the river and perished. A Mr. 
Green, having a personal difficulty with a Mr. Hancock, I 
believe, was shot, and died suddenly. Old Charley Vattier 
deliberately shot Elias Con well, now of Napoleon — put a 
heavy charge of large shot into his hip and thigh, that had 
well-nigh proved fatal. It, however, crippled him for life, 
for which he recovered a heavy damage. Henry Vanmid- 
dlesworth struck a Mr. Morehead, I believe, upon the head, 
with a grubbing hoe, and broke his skull ; but by the sur- 
gical skill of Dr. Percival, he survived. Vanmiddlesworth 
and another man perished, on the Fourth of July, by the 
untimely discharge of a cannon, as per acrostic. Indian, 
wolf, bear, and panther stories are too numerous to men- 
tion, but in keeping with all other accounts. 

The steamboat Metcalff descending the river in a thick 
fog, the pilot, mistaking the smoke of Gaff's distillery for 
an up-river steamboat, sheered suddenly to pass it on the 
right, according to usage, run square into a high bank, 
just above the mouth of the creek, which resulted in the 
total ruin of the boat, and the loss of many precious lives 
of men, women, and children ; who, with an awful shock 
and fearful outcry, were suddenly aroused from a comfort- 
able berth, sweet repose, and happy dreams, to struggle 
and perish in the waters of death. How sudden, how 
painful, how melancholy the scene. That mammoth dis- 
tillery has been twice consumed by fire, and two men per- 
ished in the flames. My eloquent friend, the Rev. Mr. 



HISTORICAL. 387 

Miller, is ** far-famed " and dearly loved. A Mr. Caldwell, 
a notorious horse-thief and plunderer, in territorial times, 
was pursued by a body of armed men, overtaken, ordered 
to halt upon his peril. Sham shots were given to bring 
him to in vain ; then a deadly aim brought him to the 
ground, a bleeding corpse, and his grief smitten wife sold 
his body to Dr. Percival, to be anatomized, for a calico 
dress. Companions in crime, how affectionate they are! 
Our agricultural friends, Messrs. White and Lane, must 
not be overlooked, as gentlemen of distinction, and moral 
excellence and worth. Old Father Cozine and Daniel Bar- 
tholomew, deceased, my early friends, must be embalmed 
in the pages of my little book. Mr. and Mrs. Bartholomew, 
"who still survives, made their house my happy home, when 
there, in days " lang syne." How sweet the memory still — • 

how sweet ! Hugh M. Allen, blowing into the muzzle 
of his gun, received the full charge into his head, and fell 
a mangled and bleeding corpse. 

FREEMONT SCHOOLHOUSE — MOUTH OF LAUGHRY. 

George Groves settled here in 1794, the first settler of 
this section of country. From my kind friends, George 
Laird and Joshua Seth, and others, old and respectable 
residents, I learn that a fearful Indian massacre of several 
persons, by the name of Laughry, gave name to the pretty 
stream now known as Laughry Creek. So also a man by 
the name of Hogan, while quietly fishing at the mouth of 
Hogan, was shot, tomahawked, and scalped ; and a Wm. 
Tanner, the same way precisely, at the mouth of Tanner's 
Creek. If we could command the origin of all the names 
in the country, what a history, what a book it would be ! 

1 farther learned, from Mr. Seth, that a young lad and 
his sister, by the name of Willard, were captured and car- 
ried off by the Indians, over into Kentucky, some sixty 
odd years ago. After awhile, they commenced cutting out 
large pieces of flesh from the body of the girl — broiling 
and eating it in her presence; that they tortured her thug 



888 cotton's keepsake. 

repeatedly for three long, painful days; then, with unheard 
of cruelties, put her to death — tomahawked and scalped her. 
The heart sickens, and the blood fairly curdles in my veins, 
at the recital. But a terrible vengeance awaited them. 
The lad effected his escape, grew up to be a man, and 
established himself iu a kind of grocery and liquor busi- 
ness, at an early day, near the mouth of the creek, where 
who should call upon him but seven Indians, and a pretty 
young squaw, a part or all of whom he immediately recog- 
nized as his own captors, and the cruel murderers of his 
loved and lamented sister; and he resolved, if possible, to 
be avenged ; but, as the saying is, " he never let on.'' 
Gave them all free access to his liquor, and, to his great 
pleasure, soon found that all were in for a drunken spree, 
except the pretty squaw, who was selected to keep watch. 
And about midnight they were all dead-drunk, when, 
watching his opportunity, he gave the pretty squaw a 
deadly blow with his ax or bludgeon ; then hastening 
down to the creek, he cut a hole in the ice, and there, one 
at a time, he, by main strength, drew them down, and 
thrust them in under the ice, to wake up in a watery 
grave, the poor squaw and all ; and thus every single soul 
of them perished. I leave it for the reader to say if that 
is not quite an Indian story, and altogether too good to 
be lost, as I have it upon good, reliable authority? The 
country hereabouts was full of bears, wolves, and panthers. 
Here a colored man, whom I knew well, was murdered 
several years ago, and the deadly and fearful weapon was 
a scythe — the scene fearful and tragic. 

HARTFORD 

Is quite a smart business place. I first saw it in 1818, 
then quite in the woods. Good old Father Wilber still 
survives, honored and esteemed by all who know him. 
His sons are the principal merchants in the place — correct 
business men, of moral excellence and worth. Good old 
Father HoUiday, father of F. C. Holliday, the eminent 



HISTORICAL. 389 

divine, the Christian, the gentleman, and the scholar, re- 
sides here. His house was consumed by fire; but his 
friends were kind and true to him, as well they should be. 
He informed me that he had seen more wild turkeys in one 
jflock or drove than could, in his opinion, conveniently 
stand upon a whole acre of land. He thought so then, 
and he thinks so now. There is a turkey story for you, 
boys. Allow two feet square, or four square feet, to a 
turkey, and there must have been more than ten thousand 
turkeys. Work it out for yourselves, boys. In this com- 
munity reside my early and worthy friends. Squire Jarret, 
Squire Wilson, John Billingsly, Joel Lynn, and James 
Walker, brother to the Hon. Henry AValker, all in easy 
circumstances, and most excellent citizens. 

A gentleman, attempting to keep an officer at bay with 
his rifle, was himself shot, and died suddenly, years ago. 
My esteemed friend, Mrs. Dr. Maderas, died suddenly, 
lamented by all. And here, too, was the former residence 
of my early and ever-cherished friend, Nathaniel Squibb, 
Esq., now of California. Squire Jarret has resided here 
all his days ; is an excellent and worthy man ; and he in- 
formed me, that, in early life, his shirts and pantaloons 
were made of the wild nettle, as noticed before, by Mrs. 
Cheek. That a very rich lady noio, residing in Dearborn, 
was clad in a nettle dress when he first saw her — a rosy- 
cheeked, healthy girl, and happy and ' cheerful as a lark." 
What do you think of that, girls? The narrative of my 
good friend. Squire Jarret, is full of interest, full of 
romance, and full of real life. " May his days yet be 
many, and full of pleasure.'^ 

MILTON. 

Robert Conway settled here in 1800; raised a large 
family, who have received many honors, both as private 
citizens and public men. While watching a lick for deer, 
three large panthers came into the lick. The odds being 
vastly against him, he retreated unobserved, well content at 



390 cotton's keepsake. 

that, Jones shot Hutchinson, mistaking him for a deer. 
It was a deadly and a fatal shot. 

Colonel James Hastings, an old settler, and much re- 
spected, cut his throat with a razor, in a most fearful 
manner, and was a corpse in a few moments, in 1851. 
James Woods hung himself upon an apple tree, in 1832. 
James Pomeroy was drowned, in 1845 — all men of families. 
A German hung himself in the woods, in 1852. 

Elias Greathouse, wife, and three children, were drowned, 
in 1845. A sudden flood swept their house away in the 
night time, and all perished together. The mother was 
found many miles below, with a piece of the cradle, in 
which her infant slept, still in her hand. Poor mother! 
A Mr. Mclntire was fearfully mangled and killed with a 
threshing-machine. Allen Boyce and Mrs. Hiram Scranton 
both badly bitten by snakes — suffered much, but recovered. 
A man was killed by a log, which rolled over him, and an- 
other one by the falling of a tree. Old Mr. Thatcher, father 
of my friend, E. Thatcher, fell off the fence, and broke his 
neck. " Such is life.'' Improve it well. My venerable 
friend Kittle (the honored father of A. J. Kittle, a graduate 
of Greencastle College, an excellent and a promising young 
man), resides here, at an advanced age. My friend Turner, 
and the Rev. Mr. Records, rather an eminent minister, have 
both removed. The blessings of all attend them. John 
Walker, brother to Henry, once shot a deer ; an Indian 
rushed in upon him to seize and carry it away. Walker 
drew his rifle upon him, and then told him not to move his 
rifle upon his peril, but to move off in double quick time, 
with his gun at a trail, which was forthwith done accord- 
ingly. What intrepidity ! Chester Thair, an insane per- 
son, set his house on fire, and perished in the flames. 
Poor fellow ! 

BEAR CREEK CHURCH. 

Hon. James Rand settled here in 1807. Turkey, deer, 
snakes, wolves, bears and panthers were numerous. Hia 



HISTORICAL. 391 

story would form a volume. Snakes of monstrous size. Saw 
one with a lar^e ground-hog, or woodchuck, half swallowed, 
taking it easily, and at his leisure. His good lady was 
drowned while washing beside the creek — fell in and per- 
ished — poor woman! Mr, Rand has represented this county 
in the State Legislature with credit and satisfaction — is some- 
wliat advanced in years as well as in honors. His name 
and memory will long survive. My good friend, John 
Henry, deserves a passing notice. He interested himself 
much in my enterprise, and his name is well worthy of a 
place in my little book. An excellent man, loved by all 
the good who know him. Hon. Judge Watts settled here 
at an early day. Was a strong, popular, and useful man, 
and a j\Iinister. His son, Col. Johnson Watts, our dis- 
tinguished and honored fellow citizen, occupies the old 
homestead. He was a soldier in the war of 1812. Had 
two sons in the Mexican War, one of whom died in that 
far-off land, was brought home, and amid appropriate 
honors, was interred in the family burying-ground, where 
he slumbers his "last long sleep, that knows no waking." 
The colonel once ran afoul of a great big rattlesnake, in a 
coil, which he says was a perfect monster of a snake. 
Turning round for a club, he saw another in the same 
position and of the same size. He began to think the ter- 
ritory " too snaky " for him, unarmed as he was, and 
forthwith very cautiously beat his quiet retreat, leaving 
to their snakeships the quiet and full possession of the field. 
But they, of course, knoAving the colonel to be " aftrayeman 
of war," and supposing his movement a mere ruse to de- 
coy them, or for some other reason, their snakeships thought 
best to move quarters too, for when the colonel returned, armed 
and equipped according to law, " for a snake fight," lo ! and 
behold! they were not to be found, demonstrating the truth 
of that quaint saying, " In union there is strength," as also 

" He that turns and runs away, 
May live to fight another day." 



392 cotton's keepsake. 

And here I will treat my readers to one of the colonel's wolf 
stories. And if that don't pay, I'm a poor judge. The 
neighborhood had long been infest^ with an old cunning 
wolf, which baffled all their skill to entrap, when a great 

hunter, by the name of Mr. , told the colonel that he 

would come and pick her up. He and the colonel put out 
into the forest, struck up a camp-fire for the night. Then 
to cut the cobwebs from his throat, he took a good swig 
of old haJdface, and went out and raised a long heavy howl 
that would have beat any wolf all hollow, and forthwith 
from a distant knoll, came back a wolfs response. There 
she is, said he, took another dram, then lay down and took 
a nap. At about midnight he went out and howled again. 
Back came the response from the same direction. Her den 
is there, said he. At early dawn they started off in that 
direction within hearing distance of each other. The colonel 
came to a narrow beaten track, saw that it led into a great 
hollow tree that had fallen down. He beckoned his friend, 
who said, there she is, and forthwith rushed to the mouth 
of the hole, and closed it up. Whereupon there was a 
great commotion within, charging the colonel to stand 
ready with his tomahawk, he drew his big knife, and then 
in spite of all remonstrances, plunged headforemost right 
in among them. He found six pretty smartly grown 
cubs; but to his great disappointment, the old wolf came 
up missing. He dispatched all the young ones save one, 
that he kept to call up the dam. The colonel was taught 
how to make it howl, then when his friend had gone at a 
little distance, he made it sing out — the old wolf answered 
in a moment, and came running round and round at a dis- 
tance, as though "she smelt the rat," and then disappeared, 
and no outcry of her young could call her back ; and much 
to their vexation and mortification. But it was the last 
they ever heard or suffered from her. If that aint a wolf 
story worth telling and preserving, what is? There's a 
second Gen. Putnan story for you boys, aint it ? 
A Mr. Whitaker was accosted by a bear, shielded him- 



HISTORICAL. 393 

self behind a small tree, kept moving round and round 
cautiously, the bear fairly eat his gunstock all off, then 
with a dextrous and happy hit with the naked barrel, 
he lay his foe at his feet, and escaped unhurt, save a bad 
fright and a tedious conflict. Jeremiah Richardson's 
horses ran away, stove the wagon all into atoms, and killed 
him instantly. 

A son of Goddard Stepp, 20 years old, while blowing 
into the muzzle of his gun, his foot slipped from the ham- 
mer, off went the gun, and he received the whole charge 
into his mouth, which was most horribly mutilated, and 
he fell a corpse. 

hart's mill, 

Owned by William Ilart, an early settler, an excellent 
and good citizen. Mill consumed by fire in 1843, full of 
grain, and no insurance. 

Daniel Paul had a little girl burned to death, her clothes 
having caught fire by a candle, and four others badly in- 
jured by the explosion of a powder keg. One is totally 
blind, an inmate of the State Asylum, smart and intelli- 
gent. Throwing crackers about at Christmas was the cause 
of the explosion. Children, be careful with powder, it is 
a dangerous plaything. Ann Eliza Stepp, a little girl, in- 
haled the hot steam from the nose of a boiling tea-kettle, 
and soon after died — poor little thing! 

John Campbell was killed at a log-rolling, a large log 
passing over him, leaving him a mangled corpse. John 
Sellers and Israel Seaborn, both hung themselves in 1855, 
and Isaiah Dowess shot himself through the heart deliber- 
ately, in 1854. Benjamin Hall was badly bitten by a cop- 
perhead, in 1823. Alexander Boyle died with a fearful 
cancer, in 1853. James H. Connell was badly injured at a 
raising, in 1844— jaw bone broken all to smash, but recov- 
ered. Mrs. Eliza Kennett was thro.vn from her horse, and 
killed upon the spot. The babe in her arms was uninjured, 
as by a miracle. 



394 cotton's keepsake. 

coles' chapel, 

Named in honor of the Eev. Eleazer Cole, an early settler, 
and an acceptable and useful minister of the gospel. He 
and his good lady have passed away, but their names and 
memories are fondly cherished still. 

Here resides that excellent man, Daniel Kelsey and his 
kind lady, daughter of father Cole, with an interesting 
family of children, grown up and mostly settled around 
them. When one year old he fell into the fire, burnt one 
of his hands to a crisp, and measurably lost its use forever. 

Ilis horse, taking fright, ran away, capsized his buggy, 
threw him and his daughter overboard; both were sadly 
frightened and seriously injured. His son Israel and Lo- 
renzo Wright were both badly bitten with copperheads — 
sufi'ered much, but recovered. 

Nathaniel Wright was killed at his house raising. A 
log slipped upon the skids, came down suddenly, and 
crushed him to death. He died in great bodily pain, but 
in peace of mind, in 1820. 

Reed Crandell, an old and good citizen, fell from his 
horse last summer, and well nigh broke his neck — will, 
in all probability, be crippled in his shoulder for life — had 
his house and goods all consumed by fire, in 1817. 

The Rev. Mr. Nelson laid me under obligations of grati- 
tude for the interest manifested in my behalf. Harvey 
Cole and other early settlers reside here, loved and hon- 
ored. John Cole had one foot cut clean or clear ofi*, with 
a mowing machine, and the other badly wounded, and 
crippled for life. 

Father Kelsey was much beset with Avild beasts, as were 
his neighbors, in their early settlement. In broad day- 
light a bear came to his very door, fell afoul of one of his 
large hogs. Hearing the outcry, he rushed to her relief — 
he let up — took to the woods — and the dogs after him — 
treed, and then he shot him, took his hide and " tanned 
his jacket." 



HISTORICAL. 395 

DILSBOROUGH 

Is the residence of that excellent and useful man, Col. 
Jacob W. Eggleston, the Leouidas and champion of Tem- 
perance, the kind friend and good citizen. Dr. Martin and 
his interesting family reside here, also; and here is my 
early and true friend, Thomas Guion, one of the first men 
I ever voted for in this county, and I voted for him re- 
peatedly afterward, and loved to vote for him — a gentle- 
man of moral excellence and worth. Here, too, are my 
friends, the Wymonds, and the Stevensons, the Tibbettses, 
the Vandolaps, the Witheroes, the Knowleses, and others, 
all good men and true — my early friends. The Rev. Wm. 
Knowles is an excellent and useful man, and minister of 
the gospel. Dilsborough is one of my strong holds all the 
time. My friends here voluntarily met me at their church, 
one evening, and subscribed for sixty-five copies of my 
book. Rev. James Murray and his most pious and esti- 
mable lady buried three of their dear children, almost at 
once — a painful visitation. My worthy friends, Wm. B. 
Miller and James Noble, had their hands badly mangled 
and torn in the machinery of the steam mill ; Noble lost 
one hand entirely, and all the fingers upon the other. 

Mrs. Layborn Bramble had her breast amputated, dis- 
eased with a fearful cancer, but died soon after, poor woman. 

Jacob Hoover's son fell from a tree some twenty-five 
feet, and broke his leg in three places, and was otherwise 
badly bruised and injured, but recovered. 

Mr. and Mrs. George Abraham, on a visit to their 
friends in Ohio, while passing through Elizabethtown, the 
wagon took fire from a coal which had fallen from a pipe; 
in a moment all was in flame. Mr. Abraham jumped out, 
but the horses took fright, ran ofi" at a most fearful rate, 
and Mrs. Abraham was burned to a perfect crisp, and 
returned to her friends a frightful corpse. Many of the fires 
charged to incendiaries will, in my judgment, be taxed to 
"pipes and cigars/' in the final settlement. The wonder 
is, that every thing is not consumed where they are used. 



396 cotton's keepsake. 



MOUNT TABOR. 

In company with the Rev. Benjamin Lawrence, of sainted 
memory, then the circuit preacher, I first visited the Mt. 
Tabor settlement, almost forty years ago. We wound our 
way through by-ways and blazed-out tracks, I hardly know 
how, until we found ourselves at good old Ralph Smith's, 
whom we found in the act of dressing a fine deer which 
he had just taken, and the first one I ever saw in the hands 
of its captors. It feasted my curiosity, and then, well 
served up, feasted my longing appetite. Alas! that noble 
race of animals is now quite extinct in this section of the 
country, but then we have our fertile fields, our railroads, 
and telegraphs, which certainly are far more valuable, in 
their stead. So we go. 

Father Smith died suddenly from an injury received in 
the breast by a heavy lift at a Avagon. Good old Mrs. 
Smith died suddenly with a disease of the heart. Four 
of their children died suddenly of the milk-sickness, in 
1827. Their house and all its contents was once consumed 
by fire. George Smith, a brother to Ralph, died with a 
fearful cancer, and his wife and three children died in a 
short period, with the milk-sickness, and two other children 
with the dropsy. Two excellent families almost extinct. 
"What a history! — what a lesson ! 

Temperance Smith, daughter of Ralph, now Mrs. John 
Cornforth, a sweet, interesting little girl, when I first saw 
her, and an estimable lady now, lives upon the homestead, 
enjoying ample competency, and one of the kindest and 
best husbands that ever blessed a woman. Her first hus- 
band, Wm. Powel, a son of James Powell, Esq., my ever- 
cherished friend, fell overboard from a steamboat and per- 
ished. A son of Nathaniel AVallace was thrown from a 
run-away horse and killed suddenly. 

My kind friends, Frank Sawdon and his good lady have 
my best wishes and warmest thanks for their kindness and 
interest in my behalf, as indeed have all in the community. 



HISTORICAL. 897 

I was quite at home among them, truly. But 0, what a 
change have forty years wrought among them ! Old 
father Frazier alone survives, of the first settlers, I believe, 
and thus it is, " one generation passeth away and another 
Cometh after them." 



TUFTS SCHOOL-HOUSE, 

So called in honor of my kind, good friends, good old 
Father, John, and Servetus Tufts, early settlers and excel- 
lent citizens. Good old Mother Tufts, full of years, and 
ripe for heaven, is waiting in hope until the change comes. 
And here is my friend, Wm. Sawdon, and his excellent 
family. Here, too, is my friend, George Randal, who de- 
serves a special notice. Friend Randal, when I first knew 
him, was a young circuit preacher of promise, but quite 
moneyless ; under which circumstances, he married a Miss 
Rhoda Ewbank, youngest daughter of good old Father and 
Mother Ewbank, now of sainted and precious memory, and 
a most industrious and pious young lady. Reared in com- 
fort and competence, as she was, friend Randal resolved 
that she should never suffer want, if industry and good 
management could prevent it ; and so it was that he aban- 
doned circuit preaching, rented himself a farm, rolled up 
his sleeves, and went into the business with a right hearty 
good will : and, behold, he now owns a full mile square of 
land, minus eighty acres — say five hundred and sixty 
acres — four miles from Aurora, and a splendid mansion 
house, barns, and everything to suit. He is worth, at least, 
some thirty thousand dollars, and has raised a large family 
of children — raised them well, too, for a more intelligent 
and interesting family of children you scarcely could find 
in a day's ride in any direction. Poor young men, look up, 
be industrious, be economical, be honest, and you, too, may 
surprise both yourselves and your friends. With brother 
Randal's indomitable energy and application, he must have 
been an eminent divine, long e'er this, had he remained in 



398 cotton's keepsake. 

the itinerancy. This is rather an extraordinary case, and 
I have given to it an extraordinary notice. 

Well, here, too, reside my good old friends, Wm. McCon- 
nell and lady, loved and honored by all; to all of whom, 
and others unnamed, my gratitude is due for personal in- 
terest and kindness, and especially so to Squire Tufts for 
his volunteer address in my behalf. 



So called in honor of Martin Trester, Esq., a worthy and 
a somewhat distinguished citizen, and an early settler. 
Wildcats and panthers were his early game. Would that 
I could write out his entire history for the amusement and 
entertainment of my readers. It is in perfect keeping with 
the report of all the early settlers, and of my own observa- 
tion and experience. He has a beautiful home and a happy 
family, all living in competency and peace. To him, as 
well as to my venerable friend George Grier, Esq., is ray 
gratitude due for personal attention and kindness. Nor 
can I pass unnoticed my other kind friends, Henry F. 
Wright, A. Abbott, James Walker, H. Tufts, E. N. Hop- 
pin, and others, who took hold of my little enterprise with 
a hearty good-will, as did my friends all around. "A 
friend, in need, is a friend indeed." 

WILMINGTON, 

Formerly the county seat, is located on a very high ridge, 
some two and a half miles northwest from Aurora. In the 
jail, here, Dodd hung himself, and a stranger cut his 
throat; and right in the jail, I once married a happy 
couple — a novelty. Here George Goulding hung himself 
in a mill; here Joseph Peters killed John Eastman in an 
affray, was tried and acquitted, as a justifiable homicide. 
They were half-brothers or brothers-in-law — what a pity! 
Peters has an interesting family, who are often pained at 
the bare mention of the sad occurrence. Not at all, chil- 
dren ; if it be your misfortune, it is not your fault, surely. 



HISTORICAL. 399 

A little son of Mr. , and Mrs. Ellen Young, was run 

over with a heavy-loaded wagon, and crushed to death in a 
moment. He was a sweet, interesting little boy. I remem- 
ber, while holding court there, I was passing along the 
street with a pretty flower in my hand, which, I saw, so ar- 
rested his attention that I gave it to him with a kind and 
cheering word. He was perfectly transported, and ran 
home in great haste, proclaiming to his good mamma — 
" Dudge Totten dave me dis!'' His father died soon after 
him, and his truly bereaved mother administered upon the 
estate. I remember distinctly that she once filed a petition, 
written in her own fair hand, that, for form and phrase- 
ology, would not have disgraced the most learned and skill- 
ful attorney at the bar, as they exclaimed themselves. She 
is decidedly an intelligent and interesting lady. Girls, 
take notice — there is nothing like being able to meet any 
reverses in fortune, and of managing your own affairs. 

A Mr. Powell, while laying up a fence, accidentally fell 
and broke his neck, many years ago. Joshua Brewington 
had a little son drowned in a cistern, right here. George 
Hume, that afflicted good man, now no more, lost five chil- 
dren, almost at once, with the milk-sickness, in 1847. 
Clark J. Durham, a most promising young man, was fear- 
fully mangled, torn, and killed in the machine-shop (as per 
elegy ) 0, how that father, how that mother, how the chil- 
dren all mourned the absence of one so kind, so tenderly 
loved! — and yet there is a pleasure in that pain. Hon. 
Stephen Wood died from a wound received in cutting up 
corn — poor suffering man! Friend Cordery, a somewhat 
wealthy merchant, and an excellent man, had his house 
broken into and robbed of several hundred dollars; and 
for giving publicity to his suspicions, was fined several hun- 
dred more — a very singular and a very hard case, and no 
mistake. Then his stable was set on fire and utterly con- 
sumed, together with his horse and buggy, and his cow, I 
believe. The entire premises were saved only by a miracle; 
the wind coming briskly from the right direction. 



400 cotton's keepsake. 

Dr. Torhet, to whom, under God, I owe my' existence, re- 
sides here, and to whom, for kind attention, during my severe 
illness several years ago, for moderate charges and for in- 
dulgence, my lasting gratitude is due, as to friend Harding, 
years before that, as noticed heretofore. Dr. Torbet and 
his sainted, precious, lamented, and cherished lady nursed 
me, if possible, with more than a parent's tenderness and 
care. 

Here, also, I feel it due to my exceedingly kind and most 
generous friend, Wm. Cheek, to say that he was an exceed- 
ingly expert, correct, and pleasant clerk of the court for 
many years. In common parlance, he " had a heart as big 
as a teakettle." He now resides in the vicinity of Napo- 
leon, noted for its " great crossings." I hope friend Cheek 
will not " go with the multitude to do evil," nor go " the 
downward road" with them, as per anecdote: A traveler 
once inquired his best route to Indianapolis, and was an- 
swered, "Go by the way of Napoleon." "Well, how to 
Columbus, in Bartholemew County?" "Why, by the way 
of Napoleon." "And how to Madison?" "Well, tir, by 
Napoleon, again." These were all proper answers, but the 
stranger, supposing himself hoaxed, pertly asked — "'And 
which way to h — 1?" "By the way of Napoleon, by all 
means. Hurry along, friend, when you get there, you '11 
have company enough, and need inquire no more, for all 
the people about Napoleon are going that way!" I guess 
not — 'pon honor. 

A son of my friend, Wm. Brice, lost one of his hands 
by an accidental discharge of his gun, and a Mr, Sellers 
escaped a horrible death just "by the skin of his teeth." 

" Dangers stand thick through all the ground, 
To push us to the tomb." 

Alas ! how true, and yet how few seem to heed it. I 
must not pass unnoticed my early friend, James Mills and 
family, my pleasant home in court time. Mr. Mills died 
several years ago, lamented by all who knew him. Mrs. 



HISTORICAL. 401 

Mills has suffered the amputation of one of her feet, is 
now living with that sweet daughter, Sarah, now Mrs. 
John M. Wilson, Esq., where every kindness and attention 
is paid to her that affection and fondness can suggest, and 
an ample competency can effect. My little pet David, has 
become an interesting and promising young man. Eliza- 
beth, now Mrs, R. D. Brown, Esq., who aided me essen- 
tially in copying my census duplicate, in 1840, resides here, 
blessed with a kind, good husband and a happy home. 
James, a most extraordinary young man, a dutiful son, a 
fond, sweet brother, a worthy companion, won bright 
honors in the Mexican war, came home and suddenly died, 
beloved and bemoaned by all who knew him. He died in 
sight of heaven, in hope of a blessed immortality. I fain 
■would, but can not longer dwell. 

Good old father Nichols, father Canfield, David Kerr, 
Stephen Jarvis, Benjamin Vaile, fiither Durham, the ven- 
erable Widow Weaver, and other cherished friends, too 
numerous to mention, reside here ; to all of whom I owe 
a debt of gratitude for their liberality and kindness to 
me. 

David Gardner paid me in advance for three copies of 
my book, and made me a present of two doUai-s, beside. 
Thomas Spicknell subscribed liberally too, and he and his 
good lady have kindly entertained me, " many a time and 
oft." Such friends are worth having, and of being held 
"in everlasting remembrance." 

SINAI CHAPEL. 

Here I held a public temperance discussion with my 
■worthy friend, Elijah Huffman, Esq., as before noticed. 
As usual in all such cases, we both came off best — but 
mine was a little the best — best as matter of course. 
Old father Ilannegan was a Revolutionary soldier ; he 
died years of age. I pronounced his funeral ser- 
mon, and wrote his epitaph. Peter and Joseph Hanuegau 



402 cotton's keepsake. 

reside here — my early and ever-cherished friends, Hon. 
John Crozier and Hon. George Cornelius, ex-representa- 
tives, reside here also. Friend Cornelius' son plunged 
into the creek to bathe or swim on a hot day — came out 
suddenly, complained a moment, and died upon the spot 
0, what a painful shock ! Boys, be careful how you 
plunge into the water when overheated. A Mr. Chilson 
hung himself upon a tree in the woods several years ago. 
My friends will excuse me if I make special mention of 
Mrs. Noah Davis. When she was a little interesting miss, 
I used to preach at her father's house, out upon Laughry, 
and ever found it a pleasant and welcome home. The 
memory of good old father and mother Montgomery, how- 
precious to my heart. More of this in its proper place. 
I had the pleasure of joining in the bands of matrimony 
two of Mrs. Davis' daughters at one time, and at one 
ceremony, the only occurrence of the kind in all my 
hymeneal career. (See hymeneal department.) Mrs. Davis 
is a sister to the Captains Montgomery, of world-wide 
fame, and of good report wherever known. Eliel Chaffin, 
John Todd, and Samuel Wood, early settlers and worthy 
citizens, and my early friends, must be registered in my 
book. My most worthy friend, Wm. Arnold, Esq., has 
removed to Iowa, loved and missed. 



SPAETA. 

Hon. John D. Johnson, ex-representative and delegate to 
the State Constitutional Convention, resides here in peace 
and plenty — an excellent man, honored by all, as well he 
should be. And the same may be said of my venerable 
friend, Joseph Churchill, Esq., and old father Givan. All 
have large, intelligent, and exceedingly fine and interesting 
families of children. 

Hugh Alexander had a son drowned in the creek, under 
circumstances somewhat indicative of foul play. A Mr. 



HISTORICAL. 403 

Lambertson was thrown from a runaway horse, and his 
brains actually dashed out against a tree — poor man. 

The Rev. Mr. Connelly, pastor of the Baptist Church, is 
highly esteemed and useful in his "work of labor and 
love." My Sparta friends have done nobly by me — that 
they have. A Mr. Sage Avas once bitten by a copperhead, 
but recovered. 



Here, at a campmeeting, the Lord wrought wonders for 
me. It was doubtful with many whether I ought to preach, 
whether I ever could. It was resolved upon to give me an 
opportunity to show myself, and let all the people judge 
for themselves. I was to preach on Sabbath morning at 
sunrise, and brother Thomas Hitt was immediately to fol- 
low me with one of his sweet, melting sermons, so as to 
cover my defeat and save the cause. Jacob-like, I wrestled 
all night with God in prayer, either to be set free or con- 
fused and silenced for ever. If it were not my duty to 
preach, why should I feel the woe upon me? I knew that 
I was green and awkward, and unpromising. I also knew 
that God could bring strength out of weakness — could 
thresh a mountain with a worm; and what God willed, 
that I desired to do ; and I yielded up my all to Him, to 
be determined by the morning service. Well, so it was 
that I astonished every body — myself, preachers and all ; 
and such another shout in the camp you never heard. 
Even good brother Hitt publicly apologized for his embar- 
rassment in having to succeed such a happy effort. And 
from that day to this, I have had a fair field, good audi- 
ences, and happy meetings. And my friends who stood 
out at first, (among whom was my good friend Judge 
Dunn) say I should preach more instead of less. That to 
me was a most propitious occasion, and the memory of it 
is sweet, and cheers my heart even to this day. 

We talk about forest cities, railroad cities, and the like. 
Well, Moore's Hill should be christened the "clergyman^s 



404 cotton's keepsake. 

villap^e." Let me see, there are the Reverends Wood, 
Smith, Adams, Curtis, Prather, Spencer, Mapes, Connelly, 
Ferine, and the stationed minister, in the bargain — all good 
men and true, right in Moore's Hill ! Rev. John Dashiell 
had both of his legs broken at a time, but is now sound 
and v^^elL 

John C. Moore, that excellent and useful man, had a 
little son which accidentally hung himself while at play, 
and was found dead. 0, what a painful shock ! The old 
citizens have mostly passed away. Rana C. Stevens, my 
early friend, and Dr. Bowers, and Collins, and Ferine 
reside here. The Dashiells and others have removed, 
greatly missed and fondly cherished still. 

Good old Father Moore, of sainted memory, must not 
be unnoticed or forgotten. One of the earliest settlers, his 
house was a preaching-place, and a home for the preachers, 
for many long years. The church, the community, and 
even the world, owe much to the memory and to the 
labors of Father Moore. If not what might be called an 
eminent and eloquent preacher, he was an excellent and 
useful man. At a campmeeting upon his premises, the 
first temperance pledge was presented, and the first tem- 
perance society was formed in the county, at the instance 
of the sainted and beloved John Strange. Dr. II. J. Bowers, 
I believe, was elected the first president, and I was one 
of the officers. Father Moore took hold of the enterprise 
with a right hearty good will, and the result is, they have 
never yet had a low, filthy doggery in the place since. 
Father Moore's family have been right all the time upon 
the liquor question; but J. C. has made whisky-barrels "to 
Boston." In furnishing a true record, these things must 
eome in; but it is also true that, at a great personal sac- 
rifice, J. C. Moore makes not another whisky-barrel. Pro- 
gress and reform all the time. John C. Moore is one of 
the very best and most influential and useful men in the 
place. Friend Bowers says that their beautiful college is 
the result of temperance, and should be christened "Strange 



HISTORICAL. 405 

College." My ever-cherished friend, William J. McCreary, 
Esq., once had a fearful runaway here. And now", boys, 
for a bear story, to quit on. A Mr. Heath, more than forty 
years ago, was beset by a furious bear, right here in 
Moore's Hill. Alone in the depths of an unbroken forest, 
out of sight and hearing, he struggled for life and victory 
for two long, fearful and painful hours. With his ax in 
his hands, and a large tree at his back, he kept her at 
bay, but could inflict no fatal blow. His heart oft failed 
him, and he nearly abandoned all hope, when a fortunate 
blow gave him the advantage, which he adroitly followed 
up, and then triumphed in deliverance — killed the old 
bear, and then two large cubs, and escaped unharmed, ex- 
cept much fatigued and much alarmed. A two hours' fight 
with a bear, right here in Moore's Hill, not far from the 
beautiful church and college ! Boys, think of that will 
you? Good old Mother Moore still survives. 

CHESTERVILLE. 

AVilliam Wheeler, Esq., and James Wells, with exceed- 
ingly interesting families, reside here, in honor and good 
circumstances. Good old Father and Mother Ewing, I be- 
lieve, have both passed away. Nelson Ketcham, my former 
neighbor and friend, once lost two children at a time, or 

nearly so. A Mrs. was once badly bitten by a 

copperhead-snake, right in her own house, but recovered. 

FREEWILL CHURCH. 

My venerable friend, Elijah Fuller, an early settler, tells 
•wonderful stories about wild beasts, such as every where 
abound. He is well stricken in years, as is my friend, 
Squire Falkner. A man and his daughter were drowned 
in attempting to ford the creek with his horses and wagon. 
The Rev. Mr. Ide, a Green Mountain Boy, a perfect giant, 
and an excellent and useful man, is located near by. And 
here, too, is my good friend, George Valentine, and others. 



406 cotton's keepsake. 



GREEN CHAPEL. 

Here resides the Rev. John Stoops, a good and useful 
man. Omar G, Stockman, a model farmer, and a friend 
worth having. And here, too, I find my fair friend, Mrs. 
Ellen Young, now Mrs. George Burroughs, happily located, 
and blessed with abundance and peace. Her only child, 
Anne Young, is most promising and interesting — is quite 
a poetess, as is a young Miss Burroughs. Friend Bur- 
roughs is an old resident, though not a very old man, 
whom I place upon the list of my choice and worthy 
friends. It is a fine settlement. I will not omit my 
friends at HulPs schoolhouse, who treated me kindly. A 
very excellent man, in moderate circumstances, and long 
afflicted with poor health, feeling that he was a burden 
upon his family and friends, applied a razor to his throat, 
and cut a fearful and awful gash ; but by timely aid, he 
was saved from sudden death — has improved in health — is 
useful and beloved. AVhat a narrow escape! what must 
have been his mental sufferings! Friends, don't neglect 
the poor and afflicted too long. don't! 

ELROD. 

Squire Elrod, post-master, merchant, and inn-keeper, 
gave me kind and good entertainment and a free pass, aside 
from his cheerful patronage to my work. He deserves to 
have his name published in large capitals, to be preserved 
as a memorial of him for ever. Here my personal acquaint- 
ance is limited, but they did a generous part by me. The 
Stevenses, McCabes, Vandolahs, McKittrichs and others, 
have long resided here, and whose kindness I gratefully 
acknowledge. 

STRINGTOWN. 

Here used to reside old Father Sutton and lady, whom I 
early knew and cherished as friends, dear to my heart. 
Their numerous children live here still, in peace and plenty. 



HISTORICAL. 407 

My good friend Craven resides a little east, — an early set- 
tler — ^yolves plenty. Wm. Sutton once had a fearful runa- 
way affair, was injured but a little. J. N. Blasdell, whom I 
have long known as an excellent and worthy citizen, resides 
here in easy circumstances. All of whom treated me most 
kindly, as did their excellent families. John Smith was 
killed by the falling of a tree in 1854. Isaac Howery by 
the falling of a limb in a storm in 1836. John F. Beal 
had his thigh and his ribs all badly broken by a fall from 
a tree. Isaac N. Blasdell once had a fearful runaway, but 
escaped unharmed, by a miracle. Vachel Lindsday dirked 
his own son, a lad of some 1 6 years, in a most horrid and 
fearful manner once. A Miss Tucker hung herself here, in 
1842. 

PIERCEYILLE. 

Father Williams, George M. Stites, Nathaniel Dixon, Wm. 
D. Bratton, A. Henthorn, 0. Gookins, E. P. French, Clarke 
and James Jordan, and their good ladies, well deserve a 
favorable notice at my hands, as does friend Brooks, Wood, 
Squire Hill, Milliken, the Snodgrasses and others, of South 
Milan, just below. A man by the name of Tanner, I be- 
lieve, years ago, in attempting to follow the Brookville trace 
home, from Versailles, got lost in a snow-storm, and per- 
ished, A young man here, was once fiercely beset with a 
panther, but escaped unharmed. 

DELAWARE STATION. 

Here resides good old Father and Mother Richardson, 
parents of the Rev. Harm an Richardson, a somewhat emi- 
nent divine, an excellent and a useful man. The old folks 
mourn the loss of the son of their old age, a sweet promis- 
ing boy, of many prayers and bright hopes, early taken 
from the evil to come. So friends, yield him up to the will 
of heaven, and soon, I doubt not, you '11 meet him in " that 
better land." The Rev. Mr. Harbin, to whom I once 
listened with great pleasure, and all the friends here treated 
me most kindly and liberally. I must not fail to mention 



408 cotton's keepsake. 

my young friend, Dr Roberts, who rendered me gratuitous 
services. 

PRATTSBUKG, 

So named in honor of Diah Pratt, a most energetic and 
business like man, who was the real builder up of the 
place. He went South to improve his health, but died in 
New Orleans — was brought back, and sleeps in the village 
burying-ground, and a beautiful marble shaft, with suitable 
inscriptions, marks his resting-place ; so much for the taste 
and affection of a fond, a widowed companion. Old Mrs. 
King, living alone, her dress caught on fire, and she was 
burned to a crisp, and died shortly after discovery, in 
great composure of mind, and free from pain. A young 
man was suddenly killed by the falling of a tree. Livings- 
ton Snell and lady, found their little babe dead by their 
side in bed. The poor mother was frantic with grief. 
Subsequently the house and all was consumed by fire. P. 
S. Hunter and lady, the Freemans, Plummers, Mayhews, 
Maxwells, Sopers and others, I can not omit to mention, 
as deserving my lasting gratitude for their liberality and 
kindness. 

MILAN, 

The residence of that beautiful orator, the Hon. S. S. Hard- 
ing, who lives in a palace, and abounds in plenty, and 
brother to Dr. M. H. Harding, of whom favorable mention 
has already been made. Their venerable widowed mother 
died precisely as did Mrs. King, consumed by the burning 
of her dress, all alone — had been left but a short time to 
be in company again soon, when, alas ! it was too late. 
Her cries were heard but not apprehended. Full of years 
and full of honors, she passed thus painfully away, loved 
and lamented by all who knew her. A Mr. Blackmore 
was suddenly killed by the fall of a board from a building. 
A Mr. Dixon and son were both drowned in attempting to 
ford the creek in a wagon, one of the horses also perished. 
The lamented Judge Dennison once had a fearful run away, 



HISTORICAL. 4 09 

and was crippled for life. Old Father Swift twice wounded 
in the wars of the country, used to reside here, but has 
gone to his reward. His excellent widow still survives him. 
My early and good friends, Mr. and Mrs. Minerva Swift, 
the Rev. B. F. Stites and lady, friend Ransom and lady, 
friend Alden, Dr. Isgrigg, John Sage, and the Hon. Hiram 
Kuowlton, who was exceedingly liberal and kind to me, are 
gratefully remembered, as well they should be. 

Hon. S. S. Harding's steam mill was once consumed by 
fire. 

peckham's SCHOOLHOUSE. 

My first ministerial services in the west, were rendered 
in this community, at good old Father and Mother Mont- 
gomery's, of sainted and precious memor}'', parents of the 
Captains Montgomery, of whom favorable mention has 
already been made. I have left home before sunrise, of a 
precious Sabbath morning, traveled all the way on foot, a 
distance, then, of some eighteen miles, preached at 11, footed 
it back to Boardman's, preached again at 4, and then footed 
it home by early bedtime ; and was happy and cheerful 
in "this great work of faith, and labor of love," and am 
happy now in the remembrance of these bj'gone days. 
"What minister can say as much, and as truthfully. Some of 
my fair audience were clad in their striped linen and plain 
linsey dresses, and looked quite tasty and fine at that. 
Gentlemen in moccasins, buckskin overalls and linsey 
hunting shirts. Yet we had good times, and got happy. 
Capt. James Montgomery, then an interesting young man, 
had just completed a saw mill which consumed all his 
means, and before put to use, it was consumed by fire. 
This so disheartened him, that he took to the river, where, 
by correct habits, he soon won fame and favor, and accu- 
mulated wealth for himself, and opened the way for all his 
brothers, Samuel, J. Edward, and John William. So that 
the burning of his mill was the making, both of him and 
his. How imperfect and shortsighted we are. No steam- 
35 



410 cotton's keepsake. 

boat captain in all the West has a more enviable repnta- 
tion than my early friend, Capt. James Montgomery, now 
of New Albany. When a young man, he was badly and 
dangerously bitten by a copperhead. Rock fern, boiled 
in sweet milk, and drank, and the application of the plant 
to the bite, gave immediate relief. Save this receipt. 
Rock fern grows in the richest places in the woods, has 
a white blossom, and a scolloped leaf, which does not en- 
tirely surround the stem or stalk. Remember that, too. 
John William, the idol of all, was drowned at Cincinnati, 
and mine was the mournful pleasure to pronounce his 
funeral address. lie sleeps in the family burying-ground, 
on the old homestead, beside other loved ones, whose names 
and memory are precious. A daughter, Mrs. Dashiell, my 
early pet, lives on the old place in happy circumstances. 
A Mr. Vansile was killed by the falling of a limb from a 
tree. Two children were lost, and both perished in the 
woods at an early day. Friend Peckham, Googins, Fisher 
Dean, of the early settlers, still survive. A Mr. Risinger 
shot his niece, mistaking her for a deer, and she fell dead 
on the spot, and he was frantic with grief and horror at 
the spectacle before him. 0! how fondly I cherish my 
early friends, the Montgomeries ! 

CLINTON. 

Here used to live my lamented friend, Amos Boardman, 
before referred to. And here still live my early friends, 
Squire Robinson, friend Edwards and Whitehead, good old 
Father Stevenson and Canfield, early and cherished friends. 
The Rev. B. F. Ferris, a gentleman of note and distinction, 
of usefuness and worth, a most pleasant family, resides here. 
And here, too, are my friends, Wm. Shane and Dr. Howell, 
a somewhat eminent physician. 



HISTORICAL. 411 



0. HEUSTIS mN". 

In all my extensive travels, I never found a better land- 
lord and landlady, in one establishment, than Mr. and Mrs. 
Heustis. Friend Heustis has more quaint sayings and 
amusing anecdotes to amuse and entertain his guests than 
any other man I ever saw, in his calling; and Mrs. Heustis 
is an A No. 1 landlady against the world, for a neat and 
excellent cook ; and the happy faculty of making herself 
companionable and agreeable to her guests, and, at the 
same time, preserving her own proper dignity and self- 
respect, she possesses in an eminent degree. They keep an 
excellent house, good fare, and reasonable bills. My hand 
in, here let me give an item or two in my tavern experi- 
ence. 

Once on a time I put up for the night, fared well, but 
paid just about two full bills. After I had mounted my 
nag in the morning, I said : *' Stranger, you are the best 
cut out man for a landlord that I ever saw — at least in 
some respects." "Ah! in what respect?" "Why, sir, 
while your guests are with you, you take right good care 
of them, and when they go away, you take right good care 
0^ yourself." Crest-fallen and mortified, he said, if I thought 
his bill too high, he would refund. " Not at all, sir ; but 
you must not take every thing for green that may chance to 
look green ;" and I "left him alone in his glory." 

So again : In one of my eastern tours, I happened to be 
the only passenger in the stage, a little west of Boston. A 
fine broiled mackerel was smoking on the table, for break- 
fast. The landlord sat down with me. Taking all the rich 
part of the mackerel into his own plate, he told me to 
help mj'self, when seizing the plate, I passed it over to him, 
saying, "Landlord, if you please, I should like to exchange 
plates with you." " Exchange plates ! What do you mean V 
"Why, bless jon, sir, I reckon I know the good part of a 
mackerel as well as you do. I was raised down about Port- 
land, where good mackerel is all the go." And then if there 



412 cotton's keepsake. 

was not a red fixce, and a hawing and hemming, I would 
not say it. "0, if you prefer this, you can have it, sir, and 
welcome." " Not I, sir ; but do n't you ever try that game 
with another guest ;" and I venture he never did. Poor 
man, he lost all appetite for his select breakfast, and I left 
him to enjoy the luxury of his musings. "Well, let that suf- 
fice as specimens, and I pass. 

Here, in the neighborhood of friend Heustis', I taught 
my first school, nearly forty years ago. The Congers, 
Millses, Powells, Morrises, and Dazies have disappeared. 
My venerable friend, Daniel Hathaway, still occupies his 
early forest home, much improved and beautified — was 
thrown from his horse ; broke his leg ; and is crippled for 
life. A fearful mortality bereaved him of several of his 
children several years ago. I have few such friends as 
Daniel Hathaway — better none can have. Elder Babb, an 
excellent and acceptable minister of the Baptist Church, 
now resides in the north part of the State. Father Garri- 
gus has passed away, but his excellent lady, and mother of 
a numerous and excellent family of children, still survives 
to bless and comfort them. My most fondly cherished and 
early friends. Philander Ross and lady, whose house was 
my early preaching-place, and they the first couple I ever 
married, removed north, and died several years ago. The 
dear children all are peculiarly dear to my heart and 
memory, as I have good reason to know that I am to theirs. 
0, how fondly and kindly they greet and entertain me when 
I can do myself the pleasure to call upon them! Early 
associations and friendships, how sweet, how true, and how 
dear! 

James and Joseph Kelso, Thomas Slack, William Flint, 
William Shane, Thomas Coen, and Sandfords S. Hawley, and 
all their dear kind families, are by no means to be forgotten 
or overlooked. Mrs. Hawley was one of my very first and 
best pupils, as was also her excellent brother, James Steven- 
son, and my kind good neighbor, Samuel S. Conger; better 
scholars and better citizens would be hard to find. They are 



HISTORICAL. 413 

about all that are left in this region of my first pupils, and 
hence this special notice — this calling up to mind the plea- 
sant scenes and associations of " bygone days." My ever- 
cherished friend, John Jackson, -vvho sleeps here beside 
other friends, that 

" Last long sleep that knows no waking," 

was also one of my first friends and best pupils. With a 
sigh and a tear, I drop the curtain and pass, 

John Kelley was crushed to death in Conger's Mill. His 
good lady, also, died only a short time before, leaving a 
large family of young children, and numerous friends to 
mourn their loss. Old Father Conger sufiered a world of 
woe, for years, with a lame leg, but at a good old age, 
both he and his excellent lady fell asleep in death. They 
were my early, my ever constant friends. Cyrus Mills, 
Esq., one of the best men in the world, removed west, and 
died soon after, lamented and honored' by all. My lament- 
ed friend, Zachariah S. Conger, and his dear widow, Tacey, 
laid me under great and lasting obligations for their gen- 
erosity and kindness to me. Bless the children ! how fondly 
I cherish their names and memories ! My Jirst school ! 
how fondly I cherish it even to this day ! A poor log cabin, 
with a " cat and mud" chimney, puncheon floor, and oiled- 
paper for glass, was the best house that the county could 
then afford ; and still we were all happy, and got along 
well. Children, think of that now, and be thankful foi\ 
and well improve your "better inheritance." Will you? 

PLEASANTVIEW. 

Here I have labored much, both as a minister and a 
teacher ; some of my early pupils are now highly educated, 
respectable, and useful. Prominent upon the list, stand 
Francis Dorman, Edwin Ferris, Sampson Givan, and Matil- 
da Moader, now Mrs. Ahira Smith, who is indeed a fine 
poetess, an excellent lady, and a happy, contented wife, as 
may be seen by her beautiful poem heretofore noticed. El- 



414 cotton's keepsake. 

der IMeader and his excellent lady are happy in all their 
family relations — all taking part in their family devotions, 
and all rejoicing together. 

" Does pure reliction charm thee 
Far more than aught below ? 
Would 'st thou that she should arm thee 

Against the hour of woe? 
Her dwelling is not only 

In temples built for prayer, 
For home itself is lonely, 

Unless her smiles be there. 
"Wherever we may wander, 
"Tis all in vain we roam, 
If worshipless her altars 

Around the hearth at home." 

Shubar L. Meader, my dearest friend and brother, his 
exceedingly kind lady, my early associate and friend, and 
other loved and cherished ones, have removed to new homes 
in the "Far AYesf The blessing of heaven abide with 
them, as do my prayers, my good wishes, and kind remem- 
brances. Good old Father and Mother Dixon worship God 
in the same happy manner, as do Elder Meader and lady, 
and live by the same pious rule. Old Father and Mother 
King, of precious memory, and Father and Mother Terrell, 
parents of Asahel Terrell, one of the very best county com- 
missioners we ever had, and old Father Ellis have passed 
away. Mother Ellis is still active and well, and "smart 
as a steel-trap." Her eldest son was drowned many years 
ago, over which she still mourns and grieves. Old Father 
and Mother Givan, early settlers and choice good citizens, 
still live, well stricken in years. The kind mate of my 
youth in Maine, Rufas Rice, slumbers here in death. His 
excellent and kind family are scattered abroad. Happy 
indeed has been my connection with them. My good 
friend, Rufus, Jr., and his kind lady, Sarah, are my cher- 
ished pupils, and occupy the old homestead in peace and 
plenty. Mr. and Mrs. John Durmau, Mr, and Mrs. John 



HISTORICAL. 415 

Todd, Michael and Sarah Dixon, Wm. Green, Hezekiali 
Hall, David McCoy, Wm. Withered, Father Sj'ms, and all 
their kind families I fondly cherish, with my unnamed 
friends in this community. 

Joel Vaughan, an early settler, was found dead by the 
side of the road, just at the foot of the hill here. A tre- 
mendous tornado swept all before it nearly, several years 
ago ; much damage was done, but no lives were lost. 

But I see I am crowding things too much. My friends, 
David Ellis and lady, and family, and Joseph's also, well 
deserve my gratitude and love. Father Haynes and lady, 
parents of my eloquent friend. Lawyer Haynes, and old 
Father Hulse, and Elder Ferris are well worthy of my re- 
membrance and love. Father and Mother Smith, and 
Loter, and that singular genius and worthy man, Jacob 
Fielding, early settlers, now no more, well deserve a place 
in my little book. 

Mrs. Ferris, a pious lady, suffered a world of woe with a 
fearful cancer, of which she at last died, in triumphant 
hope. Religion ! the sanctifier and the soother of all 
our woes, how precious thou art ! ''As thy days are, so 
shall thy strength be." Amen. 

A Mr. Mackey, son of the sainted Father and Mother 
Mackey, was bitten by a mad dog, and sometime after 
died, frothing and foaming with fearful convulsions, of hy- 
drophobia, the very thought and mention of which are 
painfully horrible. Well has the poet said — 

"Dangers stand thick through all the ground 
To push us to the tomb; 
And fierce diseases wait around 
To hurry mortals home." 

Old Father Howery threw oJBT his coat and vest, and then 
plunged, head foremost, into his well and perished. I give 
the facts, and you, reader, may the comments. Robert and 
Fanny Ketcham, and Purnell and Rachel Parsons found 
their little babes dead upon their pillows. 0, what a pain- 



4] 6 cotton's keepsake. 

ful shock ! But loss to us, to them is gain, no one can 
doubt. So cherub dears, farewell, farewell ! 

Durham's mill, 

Owned by Noah C. Durham, ex-representative, and a pro- 
minent man in the community, my early, kind, and con- 
stant friend. He has an interesting family, and lives in 
the enjoyment of abundance and peace. Just below, are 
my excellent friends, the Johnsons, so favorably known all 
over the country. My good friend, Thomas Millburn, has 
removed west. Nathan and his lady have passed away; 
she died with a fearful cancer. Old Father and Mother 
Rumsey, early settlers, are no more. One of my last and 
most important decisions, as a judge, was upon an issue 
connected with the estate ; it was a subject of much interest 
and controversy, but the Supreme Court affirmed my judg- 
ment in all things. 

A gentleman informed me that he and several others 
were out on a hunt, when their dogs started a panther, 
■which they soon treed. All were anxious to bring down the 
game — all, in a hurry, shot, and all made a clear miss ; 
but the panther, not liking his position, sprang from the 
tree, and would have struck the ground, at least sixty yards 
from the tree, if his dogs had let him alight at all. But 
before he struck the earth, they were all upon him, and 
stretched him out, so that he fell an easy prey. They 
skinned him, and hung him up by their camp-fire, and got 
sixteen pounds of tallow, which was so hard that it would 
perfectly rattle. Just think of that panther story, right here 
in Manchester, at Durham's Mill ! 



Here I met with a warm reception, and a good sub- 
scription. The Elders. Parkses, Mendalls, Canfields, Chis- 
mans, Clementses, Wards, and Bruccs, and other kind 
friends, must all be registered. Walter Kerr was deputy 
sheriff in my court for years — an excellent officer, a wor- 



HISTORICAL. 417 

thy man, a good citizen. Cyrus Canfield, one of the best 
assessors in the State, and one of the best men in it, has 
grown up in this county, and knows it all "like a book.'' 
My old friend, John Howard, who, like myself, has taught 
school all his days, honored and useful in his calling, is 
holding forth here. His pioneer and forest history ought not 
to be lost. My early neighbor, David Ketcham — and a 
kinder neighbor never lived — resides here. Good old 
Father Stevenson has removed ; his excellent lady suffered 
the amputation of her breast in a most heroic manner; it 
being fearfully diseased with a cancer, but died a few 
years after. A Mr. McKenny, residing here, was executed 
in Illinois for robbery and murder — poor, mistaken man! 

EBENEZER CHURCH. 

The Rev. Mr. Erwin laid me under lasting obligations, 
by withdrawing an appointment, to accommodate me, and 
for his kind address and interest in my behalf. He and 
the sainted Rev. Father Morgan, and Curtis, and the former 
excellent pastor, Cell, have wrought a good work here, 
both for the church and for the community. Wm. Dils, 
many years high sheriff, a first rate officer, lives here, most 
pleasantly situated. His kind, good lady was a daughter 
of the Rev. Father Morgan, as is, also, my fair friend, Mrs. 
Anderson, whom I fondly cherish. My good friend, Daniel 
Frazier laid me under renewed obligations, for personal 
kindness and interest in my enterprise, as did my young 
friend, Samuel B. Sanks and others. John Elwell and 
several of his family died suddenly and most singularly a 
few years ago, and a Miss Cheek deliberately threw herself 
into a cistern, it is supposed, and perished — poor girl. 
Who is to blame? Anybody? There must be an awful 
struggle in the mind before a delicate and tender female 
could lay violent hands upon herself. 0, what fearful 
disclosures the final day will reveal. "Stand from under,' 
everybody. 



418 cotton's keepsake. 



So named in honor of Francis Worlej, a worthy and 
distinguished citizen. His father was one of the first 
settlers, once heard a great ado among a flock or drove of 
wild hogs in the woods, cautiously approached, saw a big 
wolf upon a high stump, surrounded by some fifty large 
hogs, all eager to get a nab at him for attempting to seize 
one of the little pigs. There sat mister wolf eying the hogs, 
and father Worley, eying him for a time, summoned him 
down with a faithful and trusty leaden messenger, and the 
hogs tore him into "fiddle-strings," with a right hearty 
good will. Hogs have at least one excellent trait of charac- 
ter. They never desert their friends in the hour of danger. 
" Honor to whom honor is due." At another time father 
"Worley, I think, or some one down on Laughry, saw a 
bear and a panther attempting to cross a deep ravine, in 
opposite directions, upon the same log. Like McPherson 
and his friend meeting upon the brow of a precipice, 
neither would back out, and there they stood parleying 
and growling, and menacing each other ; panther at last 
turned about to retreat, when bruin caught him back to 
with a death-grip and a squeeze that stopped his breathing 
apparatus in a hurry, but in the struggle both rolled off 
into the chasm below. By-and-by, bruin was seen wad- 
dling up the steep bank, and came and sat down upon the 
crossing log again, as much as to say, " Stop me who dare," 
when " bang " went the trusty rifle, whiz went the ball, 
and pop went bruin into the ditch again. The huntsman, 
cautiously approaching, saw them side by side, calm and 
cold in death. The bear had actually killed the panther, 
and he had killed the bear. There 's a bear and panther 
story for you boys, that's worth telling, both for the story 
and the moral it contains. If mister bear and mister panther 
had been a little more kind and accommodating, neither 
of them would have been injured. Sluhhornness and sel- 
fishness often punish themselves. 



HISTORICAL. 419 

Again, if you must encounter an adversary, be careful 
how you take hold of him. Had bruin caught his adver- 
sary in such a manner that lie could have brought his 
fearful talons in play, he would, no doubt, have got " the 
worst of the fight." Learn a moral, then, even from the 
instinct and precaution of a bear. Ease, safety, and suc- 
cess in any and every thing, depends much upon how we 
take hold of it. An old adage says, " take every thing by 
the smooth handle/' which I have done all the days of my 
life, and I do assure you that it works to " ^perfect charm.'' 

Mrs. Mary Ann Worley, widow of the lamented Henry 
Worley, and daughter of 0. Heustis, Esq., was once thrown 
from a runaway horse; her jawbone was all broken to 
atoms nearly, and otherwise seriously bruised and injured ; 
but to the surprise of all, and the skillful management of 
Dr. Harding, she recovered, scarcely disfigured at all. Her 
presence of mind and her mother-love was such that she 
laid her infant babe down so gently that it did not awake 
from its peaceful slumbers. It was taken up, carried in, 
and laid upon the bed for a corpse, but to the surprise of 
all, it soon let them all know that it was alive and well, 
and had enjoyed a good, sweet nap. She is now the in- 
teresting and happy wife of Mahlon Kerr, son of my early 
friend, Walter Kerr, Esq., so favorably known all over 
the country, as before noticed. Other kind friends I fain 
would, but can not, in justice to them or myself, mention 
here. 

fowler's SCHOOLHOUSE, 

So called, in honor of a large family of Fowlers, living 
in the neighborhood, of high respectability and usefulness. 
Good old mother Fowler is now eighty-one years of age, 
smart and active still. Her history, like old mother Cheek's, 
perfectly tallies, and is full of thrilling interest. She once 
killed " a whopping big rattle-snake," right at her door. 
Soon after, another of equal dimensions came right into 



420 cotton's keepsake. 

her house and out at the other door, and she ran after it 
and killed that one too. They were evidently mates. At 
-another time she was badly bitten with a copperhead. And 
if I only knew that my fair readers would not blush, I 
would tell them how it happened— just as the fair lady 
told it to me. I think I '11 tell it, any how, " hit or miss." 
Well, the old lady, young, beautiful and vigorous then, was 
out in the field " pulling flax," A young and beautiful 
wife and mother out in the field "pulling flax!" How 
that sounds, don't it? Now, don't faint or scream if you 
can avoid it, when I inform you that she was pulling flax, 
harefooted, when she was thus bitten. Mercy on me! 
What shall I do now? A barefooted lady pulling flax, has 
got right into my book, too. Did you ever see the like ? 
Tavner Cheek, brother to Nicholas, as before stated, re- 
sided here at a good old age, highly respected by his neigh- 
bors and friends, and I have long known him to be a man of 
truth and veracity, — located here in 1796. He confirms the 
Indian story about " Old Nick," and adds that his brother 
jumped upon the fallen Indian, and stamped upon him in 
his face, and nearly killed him before he would let him go, 
and then told him to be off, which he seemed in great haste 
to do, and glad to get off at that. Tavner informs me that 
wolves, bears, and panthers were numerous, that in the night 
time they kept up a constant pow wow at the Big Lick, 
just above the mouth of Hogan, where the beautiful city 
of Aurora now stands — that they often caught panthers 
there with a kind of hook set for them — often shot them ; 
and once when watching there for deer, eight wolves came 
into the Lick at once, and he shot one of them — had seen 
hundreds of turkeys at a time, and had seen as many as 
one hundred deer at a time often on the bottom, had shaded 
himself in a booth of bushes, and shot as many as four 
without being discovered, took his own time, and took his 
choice of the lot — that he had killed more than one hundred 
wild cats in his time. They were a singular and savage 
animal, dark brindle color, with short tails and sharp claws, 



HISTORICAL. 421 

and so long, that when taken by the hind feet, he could 
not raise them clear from the earth — that his father had 
killed as many as thirty deer in the Lick, close by where 
he now lives, on Wilson Creek ; when his cabin was not 
more than one hundred yards from the Lick, and his family 
occupying it — that a large bear came in to one of his neigh- 
bor's cabins, sat him down in the corner of the room — the 
family slipping out the back way as the bear slipped in,"" 
gave the alarm, and he was shot and killed in the cabin ; 
that he, in company with a few othervS, once camped out 
near where friend Burk's beautiful mansion house now 
stands on the State road, where the road forks for Law- 
renceburg and Aurora, took the pick of a turkey for sup- 
per, which was served up to order. In the morning, they 
followed along the ridge, about where the turnpike now is, 
as far as about where our good friend and fellow citizen, 
Jeremiah Howerton now lives. There their Avell trained 
dogs started game down Elk Run, toward Ilogan Creek, 
and that their dogs brought up five bears, three panthers, and 
one wild cat, all of which surrendered at discretion, when 
summoned so to do by their trusty rifles. Just think of that, 
right here in Manchester. Here are Indian, turkey, deer, 
wild cat, bear, wolf, and panther stories, to which I might add 
a few elk, all reported by a single man of sterling integrity 
and truth. Had I room I would devote several pages to Mr. 
Cheek's thrilling and interesting narration. My venerable 
friends Joshua Sanks and Jesse Laird and others reside 
here, loved by all that know them. Mr. Cheek's narration 
precludes a farther notice here, except simply to state that 
good old Father Sanks is 80 years old, and never had the 
toothache — never was confined to his room a single day by 
sickness, and never had " a law suit '^ in all his life. 

There's 

"A life of health and peace" 

for you, the result of temperate habits, and a correct 
moral and religious deportment, worth more than " the 
gold of Ophir,'' or the glitter of a crown — worthy of 



422 cotton's keepsake. 

all desire, all imitation, and all praise. Wouldst thou live 
long and enjoy life, be respected and loved, 
" Go thou and do likewise." 

Wright's corner. 

The early settlers, Hon. Judge Palmer, old Father and 
Mother True, old Father Vaughan, and Dils, and Darling, 
and Kiley Elliott, of cherished memory, are no more. Good 
old Father Jaqueth almost stands alone. His precious good 
lady died suddenly with an apoplectic shock, so did good 
old Father Darling. His son Thomas, now well stricken 
in years, had like to have passed away in a singular man- 
ner, but recovered, much to the surprise and comfort of his 
family and friends. A Mr. Ince hung himself in the barn 
years ago. Old Father Jebine, a revolutionary soldier 
hung himself upon a sapling in the woods, that hardly 
cleared his knees from the ground. A Mr. Cunningham 
jumped out of his wagon to pick up his hat, and fell and 
broke his neck. A Mr. O'Brine was looking back after his 
friends, when his horse stumbled — threw him, and broke 
his neck. Here the Duncan House and four children were 
consumed by lire in 1822. (See ballad.) The Freewill 
Baptist Church was consumed by fire a few years ago. 
About fifty years ago a large elk was killed by John 
Dawson, and one of his neighbors, nigh where my friend 
Thomas Darling, Sr., now lives, and the last of the race in 
this community. 

Old Nathan Finch, who first owned the old Jaqueth farm, 
informed me the other day, that while boiling sugar-water 
in the evening, he was beset with a number of panthers, 
which he only kept ofi" by throwing brands of fire at them. 
Supposing they had left, he put out for home, which he 
had scarcely reached, when they surrounded his forest 
cabin, in hot pursuit of him — that bears and wolves were 
"thick as fleas. ^^ It was his lady, then a Mrs. Walden, 
that shot the turkey, and beat the Indians at a mark in 
New Lawrenceburg. And right here Tavner Cheek and 



HISTORICAL. 423 

others, killed their five bears, three panthers, and one wild- 
cat, in one day, right here in siglit and hearing of the 
turnpike and telegraph, the beautiful college edifice, and 
the Providence and Zion Chapels. This shows how 
numerous such animals were in pioneer times — yes right 
here in Manchester — in our very midst, ! what a change, 
what a happy change has time, industry, and religion 
wrought ! 

I must not fail to notice the death of good old Father 
Oldham, one of the most pious and eloquent exhorters I 
ever knew, who fell dead at his plow handles, last spring, 
with a disease of the heart. His good lady died " full of 
hope,'' several years ago, and his only and dear son, the 
Rev. Edward Oldham, his wife, and all his children died 
within a short time of each other. Three sisters, Mrs. 
Julia Lyons, Mrs. Rebecca Robinson, and Miss Charlotte, 
dear, precious friends, are all that now remain of the large 
and worthy Oldham family. Such are the inscrutible ways 
of Him, who is too wise to err — too good to be unkind. 
My early friend, Lozier, and father of G. M. Lozier, Esq., 
ex-repi-esentative, rather a distinguished man, has removed 
west, and his pious lady to her home above. The squire's 
interesting and intelligent lady is a sister to my friend, 
Sparks Blasdell, Esq., and a daughter of Jacob Blasdell, of 
sainted and precious memory, whose name can never be too 
often repeated, nor too fondly cherished. My exceedingly 
kind and good friends, Robert Owens, Wm. Palmer, Jere- 
miah Howerton, Columbus and Sullivan Jaqueth, Elias 
Heustis, James Burk, Henry Wood, Robert and Charles 
Mason, their kind ladies and children, and others too 
numerous to mention, are fondly cherished ; and my worthy 
friends, Hon. Col. Wm. Perry, Abram True, David Tibbets, 
Esq., and Stokely Dills — whose house was all consumed by 
fire — and whose names, and wives and children we all love 
and respect, have sold out and removed, followed by the 
blessings of the friends who remain here. 



424 cotton's keepsake. 

A Mr. Beach caught three wolves in one trap — one loft 
his foot, the other two were held and slain, and for this 
wonderful feat, he was ever after known as " Wolf Beach." 
This was the last of wolves among us here. A Mr. Mat- 
tocks had his thigh all shattered to atoms by the explosion 
of a cannon, at a mass meeting on the Fair Ground, and soon 
died. Poor fellow ! Roswell Craw felled a tree upon him- 
self, lay out all night, and was found in the morning man- 
gled and cold in death. 

Thomas Wilcox, a lad of some twelve years, at a shiva- 
reeing party, came to a sudden and painful death. It being 
dark, one of the parties discharged his pistol, with its muz- 
zle, unobserved, right upon the breast of young Wilcox ; 
and, although nothing but powder, the concussion upon 
the vitals was so great, that he fell, lingered one painful 
day, and expired, to the deep anguish and grief of his kind 
and fond father and mother, who mourn his untimely end 
until this day, and will go down to their graves sorrowing. 
My young friend, Leonard C. Chase, sang a fine poetic lay 
upon the occasion, which I should be pleased to treat the 
friends and my readers to, did space permit. A single quo- 
tation, however, I will make : 

"No tongue can tell what feelings fell 
Upon the people all around, 
When news they got a boy was shot, 
And he lay moaning on the ground.' 

So much for a foolish shivareeing party, of which men- 
tion will again be made — and so much, too, for Wright's 
Corner. 

N. B. — The Rev. Dr. Wooley, whom his friends regarded 
as an eminent and eloquent minister and a successful prac- 
titioner, quite recently removed to that country where 
"Sickness and sorrow, pain and death 
Are felt and feared no more." 

But his name and his memory are fondly cherished 
still. 



HISTORICAL. 425 

WEST FORK. 

Here I taught some of my most pleasant schools. It is, 
decidedly, one of the finest settlements in the West. Mary 
Jane, daughter of George and Ann Snell, died preciously 
happy in religious hope and enjoyment. Miss Eliza and 
Miss Clara, fond, sweet sisters, and daughters of my early 
and most estimable friends, Keuben and Betsey True, died 
"within a short period of each other. Both were exceedingly 
interesting young ladies, and Miss Clara was a fine writer, 
a young lady of taste and genius, whose name and memory 
can never be obliterated from my throbbing heart. Miss 
Sarah, daughter of Thomas and Jane Smith, my ever dear 
friends, was almost an exception for mind and amiability. 
All dear cherished pupils, who have passed sweetly from 
earth away. — See Obituary. 

Joseph and Hannah Hansel, Ralph and Mary Collier, 
George and Ann True, John and Ann Collier, a much af- 
flicted but most interesting young lady ; Samuel and Fran- 
ces Etta Beggs, Isaac and Helen Ward, Adolphus and Sarah 
Jane Kirshner, Joseph and Ann A. Hall, Alfred and Mary 
Jane Chamberlain, were all, except two, my early, my cher- 
ished pupils, and as such, and as families, have my warmest 
love and gratitude for great. personal attentions and kind- 
ness. Joseph Hall and Adolphus Kirshner are noio in the 
furniture business, in Cincinnati. Should any of my readers 
or friends visit the city on business, " in their line," I con- 
fidently advise them to give my worthy and most deserving 
friends a call, at No. 59 Broadway, a few doors below 
Lower Market. 

Miss Jane Ann, Miss Ellen, and Miss Mary, daughters 
of Thomas and Betsy Hansel, are names too precious and 
dear ever to be overlooked or foi^gotten by me. Nor can I 
pass unnoticed my other pupils here ; Miss Elizabeth and 
Miss Almira Firth, Miss Jane Ann, and little Miss Mary 
Thompson, Miss Jennie Davis, Miss Ann, Miss Frances 
Etta, and Miss Rhoda Hall, Miss Mary Ann, Miss Helen, 
Miss Rachel, and little Miss Sebra Smith, Miss Mary Eliza- 
36 



426 cotton's keepsake. 

beth, and Miss Angeline Vanhorn, Miss Elizabeth, Miss 
Ann, Miss Sophronia, and little Miss Hannah Taylor ; Miss 
Mary Ann, Miss Frances, and Miss Elizabeth Emerson ; 
Miss Lovina, Miss Clara, and Miss Emeline Elliott; Miss 
Elizabeth Ann, Miss Eliza Jane, Miss Sebra, and little 
Miss Josephine Hansel ; Miss Clara Jane, Miss Louisa, and 
little Sebra, and Harriet Beecher Collier; little Miss Ma- 
ria Snell; little Miss Ann Eliza and Flora Collier; Miss 
Rose Ann and Miss Elizabeth Pierce ; Miss Harriet, Miss 
Sarah, Miss Catherine, Miss Arzilla, Miss Lovina, Miss 
Mary Eliza, and Miss Elmira Jane True — precious names — • 
and pupils loved most fondly still, though scattered abroad 
and "far awaTj." The Lord bless them all — \\ow dear they 
are to my heart ! 

" The good boys" must excuse me if I omit their names. 
I scarce can find space to record the names of their kind, 
good sisters. Bear this in mind, boys — will you ? — and 
" take the will for the deed,'' 0, I love to dwell upon the 
memories of my cherished pupils, and know full well that, 
generally, they do upon mine — that I do. 

Mr. and Mrs. Wm. Davis, Mr. and Mrs. George Thompson, 
Mr. and Mrs. George Snell, Mr. and Mrs. John Taylor, Mr. 
and Mrs. Thomas Hansell, Mrs. Widow True, Mrs. Widow 
Collier, and Mrs. Widow Hall, whose hospitalities I have oft 
enjoyed, are all gratefully remembered and embalmed in the 
pages of my little book. This, to me, is a somewhat extra 
neighborhood, and I give to it an extra notice. 

Hannah, a dear sweet little daughter of Joseph and 
Fanny Hall, was suddenly killed by lightning, in 1822. 
She was sitting close to the Jiearth, received the electric 
shock, and gasped and died, while the grief-stricken 
parents were at church. Good old Father Hawxwell, Father 
of my much esteemed friend, John Hawxwell, died suddenly 
with an apoplectic shock. Good old Father Collier and 
good old Father Hansel, also, passed suddenly away years 
ago, both loved and lamented by all who knew them. 
Mother Hansel, sainted woman, will, in all human proba- 



HISTORICAL. 427 

bility, soon "join her friends above." Judge Dowden and 
lady, my choicest friends, removed, and both fell asleep in 
death. James Hall fell from an appletree, that vv^ell-nigh 
broke his back, and injured him, perchance, for life. James 
Thompson fell some thirty or forty feet from a tree, v^^hile 
after nuts, was much bruised and injured, but recovered. 
Boys, be careful how you climb trees after nuts, will you ? 
Charles Pierce, my good old friend, once had a fearful run- 
away, but escaped harm as by a miracle. Virgil Dowden's 
little daughter lost a hand entirely by a " cutting machine," 
Can't be too careful, friends. Right here, old fiither Cun- 
ningham killed three panthers in an hour, and then caught 
two cub bears. The wolves killed one of his best dogs, 
right at the mouth of the run, by Mrs, Hall's. His daugh- 
ter, now Mrs. Squire Connelly, of Jackson, encountered a 
monstrous big rattlesnake and took his rattle from him. 
Instead of running from him she ran at him, and beat 
him too at that. Young ladies, what say you? could you 
do that? Joseph and John Hansel killed another, five or 
six feet long, as large as his thigh, and took nineteen 
rattles from him — monstrous ! That 's a snake story that 
will ijay, and do well to quit on. 

What will the little boys think who live here fifty years 
hence, who, perchance, may read this story as they glide 
along upon the railroad track, or while cultivating this 
rich bottom field where his snakeship " met his enemy and 
lie was theirs." I can not pass my worthy and kind friend, 
John Hammond, unnoticed — surely not — never. Benjamin 
Hall, an early and ever-cherished pupil, has long resided 
in the far-ofi" and beautiful Oregon. Bless me, how my 
pupils are scattered abroad, God bless them all, and make 
them a blessing to all with whom they have to do. " So 
mote it be." My excellent friend, Ralph Collier, was a 
No. 1 scholar all the time, for close application and " good 
behavior in school," and as a result, he is now one of the 
most intelligent, most business-like, most useful, most 
loved and honored men in all " these diggings," and has a 



428 cotton's keepsake. 

lady and family to match to " a perfect charm:" So much, 
then, for a little obscure "Tanner's creek boy." Close 
application and a cm'rect deportment will make a man of 
usefulness and honor of the most forbidding and obscure. 
Boys, do you hear that? Will you heed it? Save your 
spare dimes and your leisure moments — turn all to good 
account, and you will accomplish wonders. 

" Little drops of water, little grains of sand, 
Make the mighty ocean and the pleasant land," 

Therefore, " despise not the day of small things,''' for 
*' behold what a great fire a little matter kindleth." I here 
treat you to a beautiful little poem, and pass. Treasure 
up the moral, and may you all profit by it 

LITTLE BY LITTLE. 

" Little by little," an acorn said, 

As it slowly sank in its mossy bed, 

" I am improving every day, 

Hidden deep in the earth away." 

Little by little, each day it grew; 

Little by little, it sipped the dew; 

Downward it sent a threadlike root; 

Up in the air sprung a tiny shoot. 

Day after day, and year after year, 

Little by little, the leaves appear ; 

And then the slender branches spread far and wide, 

Till the mighty oak is the forest's pride. 

<'Far down in the depths of the dark blue sea, 
An insect train work ceaselessly ; 
Grain by grain they are building well, 
Each one alone in its little cell. 
Moment by moment, and day by day, 
Never stopping to rest or to play. 
Rocks upon rocks they are rearing high, 
Till the top looks out on the sunny sky ; 
The gentle wind and the balmy air, 
Little by little, bring verdure there; 



HISTORICAL. 429 

Till the summer sunbeams gayly smile 
On the buds and flowers of the coral isle. 

" Little by little," said a thoughtful boy, 
" Moment by moment, I '11 well employ, 
Learning a little every day, 
And not spending all my time in play. 
And still, this rule in my mind shall dwell — 
' Whatever I do, I will do it well.' 
Little by little, I '11 learn to know 
The treasured wisdom of long ago; 
And one of these days perhaps we '11 see, 
That the world will be the better for me. 
And do you not think that this simple plan 
Made him a wise and a useful man ? 



YORKVILLE. 

Here is the residence of Richard Slater, ex-senator, and 
of John Boyd, men of influence and notoriety, political 
adversaries, but choice personal friends of mine. My good 
friend, the Rev. Richard Spicknell, removed west, and soon 
after died in the joyous hope of " a better inheritance 
above.'' A. Mr. Bailey vras killed by the falling of a tree 
years ago. Whitesell's steam mill was consumed by fire a 
few years since. Old Father Heimberg fell from the roof 
of his barn, and soon after died. In the early settlement 
here, a little son of Mr. Levingberg, not three years old, 
was lost in the woods, tarried out all night and all the 
next day, before he was found. He had wandered several 
miles, but could give no satisfactory account of himself 
Friend Scott informed me the other day that the whole 
forest was alive with persons in search. And when found, 
such another shout was never heard. Mr. Scott is my ever 
faithful and worthy friend. The Rev. Joseph Proctor, a 
somewhat eminent minister, and a friend, is most kindly 
remembered. Old Father Skaats, a Revolutionary soldier, 
was buried here, with military honors. My ever dear 



430 cotton's keepsake. 

friend, John McMatli and family have removed, loved and 
missed. And now my ever faithful, ever true friend, 
James Angevine, must receive a passing notice. Mr. 
Angevine has few equals, and no superiors, for moral ex- 
cellence, in all this community. I am more indebted to 
him and his exceedingly fine and amiable family, than to 
any other one family in all the ^xest. By night or by day, 
in sunshine or in tempest, his house has been my happy 
home. I have married nearly all his children, preached 
all their funeral sermons, and, almost without an excep- 
tion, returned with an extra V or "yellow 5" jingling in 
my pocket. If all my ministerial services had been half 
as well paid for, I should have an abundance. He has 
often loaned me money, but would never take a cent for 
interest. When I have been sick, he has contributed 
freely and voluntarily to my necessities, to the tune of ten 
dollars at a time, subscribed for nine copies of my book, 
and voluntaril}' paid all in advance. Differences of political 
or religious opinions have never for a moment interfered 
with our affairs, or cooled our personal love or friendship. 
My Muse whispers me again that I ought to say, right here, 
something like this : 

My good old friend, James Angevine, 

And all his household dear, 
Deserve a tribute at my hands, 

Which I present them here. 
They 've been most kind to me and mine, 

For lo ! these forty years, 
Which I acknowledge cordially. 

With gratitude and tears. 

And since my acquaintance with Captain Hugh Scott, both 
he and his have performed toward me and mine a similar 
part, and are entitled to share in the above tribute largely 
and freely. My friends will readily see that this is a little 
extra liberality and kindness that well deserves a little extra 
acknowledgment. And the kind remembrances of their 



HISTORICAL. 431 

"loved and lost" John, Gilbert and Eliza Angevine (Mrs. 
Rowe), and Nathaniel and Sarah Scott (Mrs. Carson), 
claim "the tribute of a sigh and a tear/' Wni. S. Ward, 
Esq., an excellent county commissioner, good old Father 
Ferine, and good old Father Proctor, fell suddenly " asleep 
in Jesus," years ago, but "their memory is precious" still. 
Old Father Christy died of a fearful cancer. George Hall 
died in a most painful manner, after losing both his eyes, 
and ** suffering a thousand deaths" — poor fellow! — yet he 
died in full hope of " a better inheritance above." My ex- 
ceedingly kind friend, Freeborn Lewis, once, in my presence, 
had a fearful runaway ; but, in a most astonishing manner, 
escaped both death and damage. John Bontee was, in 
early times, closely beset with "a pack of wolves," whose 
name was " legion ;" but by great presence of mind and 
good management, he made his escape. Good old Father 
Rowe, and Father Row, and Father McMath, and Henry 
Likely, Esq., and their kind families, are all removed by 
death or otherwise ; but fondly cherished still, Wm. Row, 
a young man, much beloved and respected, leaning upon his 
gun, accidentally struck the hammer with his foot, and re* 
ceived the full charge in his breast, and fell a bleeding 
corpse. My early and venerable friend, old Father Rodgers,- 
died at a good old age, with a fearful and painful cancer. 
His kind good lady, and his preciously dear daughter. Miss 
Ann, died several years before, loved, lamented, and missed. 
His most amiable and most praiseworthy niece, Miss Carrie 
Guiou, with a devotion and fidelity seldom to be found, 
stood by him, night and day, to the very last, doing all that 
ingenuity and affection could devise to soothe his pain, and 
to comfort and cheer his heart. Estimable young lady! 
dear, cherished pupil of mine ! wherever my book is read, 
this shall be known as a "memorial of thee." I name 
Father Rodgers here, because here he worshiped, and all 
are buried here. 

The venerable Widow Ferine says, when she first settled 
here in the forest, some forty or fifty years ago, not only 



432 cotton's keepsake. 

were the howling beasts of prey, but Indians, too, were 
numerous, and would often enter into her cabin at night, 
strike up a fire, treat themselves unceremoniously to any 
and every thing they could find, enjoy themselves thus for 
hours, and then retire, without offering her or hers any 
personal molestation or violence. And a Mr. Smith (I 
think that was the name), who raised the very first cabin 
on the ridge, had it partly covered, when he chanced to 
see two big Indians lurking about it. Supposing them to 
be spies for mischief, he stole upon them, and with a deadly 
aim made one of them " bite the dust.^' The other precipi- 
tately fled — paused at the distance of some forty rods, and 
then turned back, unwilling to leave or forsake his friend. 
Meantime, Smith had kept his eyes upon him, and re- 
loaded his gun, and when the Indian had come within 
shooting distance, he, too, was made to bite the dust, and 
share the fate of his friend. Smith dug a grave, put them 
both in, and buried them right here, within gunshot of 
the church ; and that winds up the story. Ain't that 
worth preservation? Indians pillaging houses, and then 
shot, right here in Yorkville; and but for me, who would 
know it? 

vanhorn's schoolhouse. 

One of the very best, schoolhouses I ever occupied, and 
one of the best districts. Of forty pupils, only twenty-five 
of them were Smiths, and my most excellent friends, John 
Smith and lady, only furnished eight ; and for good and 
kind pupils, one need not desire better — could not find 
them if they would. If all the Smiths that we hear and 
read so much about, are, for moral excellence, like this 
Smith stock, may they never be less ; and, judging from 
appearances, they never will, though John and his excel- 
lent lady have only fifteen children yet — as sweet children 
as ever blessed a parent. And would you believe it, my 
very worthy and exceedingly kind friends over the creek, 
William Rawling and lady, have had twice fifteen — yes, 



HISTORICAL. 433 

twice fifteen. Perhaps it will relieve your wonderment a 
little when I explain it thus — they had fifteen, lost one, 
and then had another, which makes twice fifteen, you 
see. Every thing is simple and plain when you under- 
stand it. 

My early and ever-cherished friends, Cornelius Vanhorn, 
Esq., his kind afilicted lady, and his exceedingly kind 
children, Miss Mary Elizabeth and Miss Angeline, are 
loved and cherished pupils of mine, and dear to ni}- heart, 
as are all the numerous and beloved Smiths. Here, too, 
were the lamented Sarah, beforementioned, and her dear 
sisters, Mary Ann, Ellen and Rachel, enrolled high on 
the list, and deeply engraven on my heart, as was Eliza- 
beth Sharp, sweet girl, now no more. My worthy and 
precious friends, William and Coonrod Row, and William 
Robinson, and their kind, interesting families, have re- 
moved, loved and missed by the community generally, 
and that I know right well. Here I record a general act 
of kindness, never to be forgotton. At the close of an 
evening-school, friend Robinson and Collier went up to 
the desk, and commenced counting out money, when I 
pleasantly remarked, I thought they had more than their 
share, and that I should like to come in for a part of it. 
Friend Robinson said they would let me in, and gathering 
it all up, handed it over to me, saying the accompanying 
paper would explain. "I do not understand you." "No 
matter ; the paper will explain ; take it all, and look it 
over at your leisure." And while I hesitated, they laid it 
all on the desk for me, bade me good night, and left me 
to close up the house. On opening the paper of explana- 
tion, it read as follows: 

"We, the undersigned, consider it due to A. J. Cotton, 
for his services as temperance lecturer, as a minister of the 
Gospel, and school teacher, and for the great good he has 
affected upon society generally, to tender to him, as a tes- 
timonial of our respect, for those services, the following 
subscription, for the purpose of treating himself to ' a new 
37 



434 cotton's keepsake. 

coat/ as *a Christmas present/" Ten dollars enclosed, 
with the list of subscribers. 

A thunder clap from a cloudless sky at noonday, could 
not have taken me with a more sudden surprise. It was, 
however, a very pleasant surprise, set on foot by my good 
friend Robinson and lady, by whom five dollars more were 
given to treat my good lady to a new dress also. Precious 
are such friends, and precious their remembrance. My 
hand in, I will finish my coat story. While President of 
the County Temperance Society, I contented myself with 
rather a shabby coat for such a high dignitary, because I 
had not the means to do better. And my heart was too 
warmly engaged in the good cause, to think much about 
my coat, which was comfortable, if not respectable. At 
which time a very kind friend approached me, very timidly 
and cautiously, lest he should wound my pride — wished to 
knoAV if I would take it kindly, if my friends should pre- 
sent me a new coat. He was authorized to ask me, and 
if acceptable, to assure me that the coat should be forth- 
coming. I assured him that it would be a most timely and 
acceptable present, the like of which, however, had not 
entered into my imagination. Enough said, added he, and 
we parted, he to report progress, and I to enjoy happy 
dreams, and soon a new coat. Well, I looked and waited, 
and waited and looked, but I never heard another word 
about the coat. I suppose it was intended as a hint that 
the president should wear a better coat. Well, however, 
that I did not treat myself to one, as my *' coat of tar and 
feathers" story well demonstrates. Reader, did you ever 
hear about that? Perhaps not, I have kept that pretty 
close to myself, but will now disclose it as an incident 
worthy of note in my eventful life. I name it here, because 
it comes in well with my other coat stories. Well, this is 
it: I had my old coat on, bound to the Grand Division at 
Patriot several years ago, called at Rising Sun on my way, 
and made a temperance speech in the evening, to a crowded 
house ; had excellent order, and, as I thought, a right good 



HISTORICAL. 435 

time, felt pleased myself, and thought everybody else did ; 
went home to share the kind hospitalities of my venerable 
and good friend Judge Jelley and lady, v^'-here I vras most 
kindly entertained, as I ever had been. Well, early in the 
morning, two very good-looking gentlemen, whom I thought 
I had seen before, called upon me, and desired me, for the 
sake of a little chat, to take a walk with them, and sup- 
posing all fair that looked fair, I readily assented. On 
and on we went, and nothing new or novel was introduced. 
I began to think something was up, but what, for the life 
of me I could not conjecture. At last they said, we will 
call in here, and in we all went, when lo ! they accosted 
me about in this manner: Now, sir, just oft" with your coat. 
AVhat do you mean ? said I. Off with your coat, sir. If 
you do not, we will do it for you. ! gentlemen, you 
cant be in earnest — did I ever think I should come to this ? 
No time to parley, sir, everything is all ready for you, 
and seizing my old coat, off they took it, and in double 
quick time dab they took me, and had me completely clad in 

a coat of as beautiful broadcloth as ever mortal need to 

wear. " The tar and feathers " I escaped, you see ; and the 
Rev. B. F. Morris, that celebrated Presbyterian Minister, 
and the Rev. Wm. M. Fraley, their excellent stationed min- 
ister, were the gentlemen who led off in this matter. And 
thus ends my coat stories, which for good reasons, I have 
chosen thus to report. 

Miss Eliza, Sarah, Jane, Matilda, Mary, Adaline, Albina, 
Maria, Ellen, Minerva, Flora, Melissa, Elizabeth, Angelina 
and Sebra Smith, Miss Hannah Harrison, Miss Ann, Clema 
and Hannah Robinson, little Miss Goff, Miss Caroline, 
Sarah Jane, and Mahala Row, Miss Mary ,Jane Vandolah, 
Miss Hannah Jane Ferree, well deserve a name and a place 
in my little book, as they have in my kind and fond re- 
membrance. Miss Mary and Miss Susan Scott, though never 
pupils of mine, are friends worthy of all praise , and I em- 
balm their names in the pages of my little book, with the 
other young ladies of their intimate acquaintance, and I do 



436 cotton's keepsake. 

it with pleasure — a deserved tribute to "modesty and 
worth." 

And, I think, in all my life, that I never saw a more 
kind, attentive, and dutiful daughter to an afflicted mother, 
than my fair friend. Miss Mary E. Vanhorn. Girls, you 
can never be too kind to your good mothers; and a kind 
dutiful child, 0! what a treasure. My friends in this com- 
munity will take this extra notice kindly, because it is a 
just tribute which they themselves accord to her. Girls — 
daughters — do you hear that? 0! you can never be too 
kind and dutiful to your good and afflicted mothers. I 
repeat it, you never can. And it is with pleasure that I 
send the name and the example of Miss Mary E. Vanhorn, 
abroad in my little book, as worthy of all praise and all 
imitation. And my little sweet Angeline is all affec- 
tion, and kindness, too. Good old Father and Mother Smith 
are both over 80 years of age — the oldest couple — have 
lived longer together as " husband and wife," raised one 
of the largest and best families of children in all this com- 
munity, and that is saying a great deal, truly. And when 
they shall have been "gathered to the land of their fathers," 
their children, and their grandchildren, until the third and 
fourth generation 

" Shall rise up and call them blessed." 

sawdon's SCHOOLHOUSE, 

So named in honor of my good friend, Wm. Sawdon, a 
worthy and a good citizen, who has a fine family, and a 
pleasant home. Father and Mother Liddle, of precious and 
sainted memory, are no more. Good old Father and Mother 
Brown reside here. My good friend, John Liddle, has long 
been afflicted. And Robert Huddleston and lady, my 
highly esteemed friends, lost a sweet daughter, under cir- 
cumstances peculiarly afflictive. Wm. Whittaker, an early 
and good citizen, went to England to obtain a legacy, and 
on his home-bound passage, perislied in the ill-fated steamer 
Arctic that was lost, and every single soul on board per- 



HISTORICAL. 437 

ished. Not one left to tell the story of lioio, or lohen, or 
where. All is a total blank to be filled by vague conjecture. 
How fearful and solemn the contemplation ! More so to 
me, perhaps, because a loved brother of mine perished at 
sea. 

GRUBBS' SCHOOLHOUSE, 

Here I taught a very pleasant and agreeable school, all 
things considered. It is altogether a pleasant district. 
Bless the children, how I long to see them all again. 
John Grubbs, John Garetson, John Darling, George Liddle, 
"Wm. and Uobert Ilansells, Edward Ewbank, Wm. Ewbank. 
Wm. Smith, Esq., John Smith, David Smith, and James 
Gootee, and all their good ladies and kind children have my 
gratitude and my love, for their kindness to me, as do 
others in the community. Mrs. Gootee is my early and 
highly esteemed friend, is a most excellent, yet much afflict- 
ed lady, but has a kind husband and a pleasant home. 
John Hoagland had a little girl burned to death, by her 
dress taking fire. Here were the honors referred to in my 
poem paid to 

" Honest Thomas Miller." 

Here the Rev. Stephen Liddle, a very useful, and an ex- 
cellent man, lived beloved, and died lamented. Here a 
Mr. O'Connor was found dead, out in the woods. Old 
Father O'Connor, Benjamin and Martin Ewbank, and 
families, are worthy a place among my earlv, and my cher- 
ished friends. 

For bear, wolf and panther stories, all in this community 
are referred to my good but afflicted friend, John Grubb, 
who will " astonish you jest." The same story all the way 
round. To please the children, to encourage others, and to 
gratify myself, I must here make mention of my little class, 
at least, little Jane Ann, and Elizabeth Smith, little 
Angeline and Adaline Hansel, Elizabeth Miller, Sarah 
O'Conner, and Mary Jane Ewbank were dear, sweet, in- 
teresting little girls, all dearly loved, and fondly cherished 



438 COTTONS KEEPSAKE. 

still. Boys, if I name your dear, kind sisters, you must not 
take it amiss, if I omit your names. It is not because you 
are forgotten, nor because you are not loved ; but because 
I can not spare the room. And what I now say unto you, 
**I say unto all," the second time, and don't forget it. 
Cost what it may, I am unwilling to pass unnoticed, Miss 

Sarah Gootee, Miss Mary Jane, and Miss Susan 

Grubbs, Miss Mary Ann Ilansells, Margaret Liddle, Miss 
Mary Jane and Miss Rachel Ewbank, whose names and 
memories I fondly cherish, as dearly loved pupils of mine. 

GUILFORD. 
Here a good brother kindly received me, but "sawed me 
off at the knees," almost before I had taken my seat. He 
said he had been so much imposed upon that he would 
never subscribe for another book; and beside all that, he 
had learned that by waiting awhile, he could get them for 
about half price. Thinks I to myself — " my cake is dough 
here, sure," which threw me into " a fit of the blues ;'' 
when what should happen, but my young friend, Benjamin 
M'Collough, invited me over to his office. He said he had 
to leave on business, and could not be at my meeting, but 
handed me over two dollars, " book or no book." That was 
both liberal and kind, and I learn his misfortune with sor- 
row. The house was well filled, and nearly twenty sub- 
scribers obtained, and several dollars voluntarily prepaid. 
A bad beginning sometimes ends well. My friend dealt 
with me honestly, and doubtless, has often been imposed 
upon ; so the greater will be the compliment should he pa- 
tronize my work, after he sees it, a result that I confidently 
anticipate. I think he is good for two or more copies at 
the subscription price. They will be more, instead of less, 
uU the time, and no mistake. 

The first Quarterly Meeting I ever attended, in this 
county, was at good old Father and Mother Ewbank's. 
Bishop George preached, and, oh, such preaching! — the 
whole atmosphere and every thing around seemed holy 



HISTORICAL. 439 

and heavenly. The text and sermon I distinctl}'' remember 
to this da3^ "Deliver us from evil," etc., was the text — 
the conclusion of the Lord's Pra^^er. The sainted bishop, 
and Father and Mother Ewbank have gone to their friends 
and to their reward in heaven, no doubt. David Ewbank, 
a son, and a twin brother of my worthy friend, Mrs. Fanny 
Hall, was suddenly killed, by the falling of a tree, forty 
years ago. Old Father Morgan was drowned in attempting 
to ford the creek, here. John Ewbank and his excellent 
family occupy the old homestead, in the enjoyment of great 
peace and plenty. Thomas, one of ** the excellent of the 
earth," died recently, loved and lamented. His good lady, 
deeply afflicted, is comforted with good children. Rhoda, a 
dear and ever cherished pupil, has passed from earth away, 
leaving one of the kindest husbands, and several children, 
who are tenderly cared for by her good sister, Catharine, 
another loved and cherished pupil ; as are Miss Ellen and 
Miss Hannah Ewbank, and others — all fondly dear to my 
heart, engraven in my affections, and registered in my 
book. Squire Huddleston, Virgil Dowdon, the Campbells, 
the Robinsons, and others, are all my early and pre- 
cious friends. 

Now for a turkey story worth telling. Mrs. Squire La- 
zenby, then a Miss Rawling, and one of those twice fifteen 
children, which only amounted to sixteen, by a new mode 
of computation, once saw a large flock of wild turkeys in 
the field. The men being all absent, she seized one of the 
loaded rifles, and out she put. Having heard that " two 
birds might be killed with one stone," she thought it a 
good time to make the experiment whether two turkeys 
could not be killed with one ball. So taking her time, two 
came in range, and hang went the gun, and down went Miss 
Rawling, flat upon her back, with a heavy kick from her 
gun, in not holding it firmly to her shoulder. A little 
amused and mortified at her awkward predicament, and 
supposing, as she had fallen herself, all else had escaped 
unhurt, she gathered herself up for an inglorious retreat, 



440 cotton's keepsake. 

when lo I to her infinite surprise and gratification, she saw 
a turkey in the " flurries/' and rushing toward it, saw an- 
other. She picked both up, and marched home in triumph, 
such as Queen "Vic/' never experienced, percliance, when 
mounting the throne in Parliament. 

What do you say to that, girls ? — a young forest lady 
kill two turkeys at a shot! Another beat an Indian at a 
mark, and shot deer and turkeys from her door. La, 
bless me! I can "beat that all hollow" myself. I have 
shot at turkeys out of my own window, and neither hurt 
them, nor myself either. I once shot nine times at a squir- 
rel, in the same manner; ammunition and patience both 
failing, I gave it up for a bad job, and left him alone in 
his glory. But it settled one question in my mind very 
clearly — that you could never kill a squirrel by shooting 
at him and not hitting him, as some say tJiey have ; for if 
missing him nine times hand running would not bring 
him, I should like to know by what rule one miss 
would? Seriously, since the injury in my breast, I could 
never steady my hand with any degree of certainty, either 
to shoot or write. But do n't this story match the ladies 
admirably ? 

CAMBRIDGE 

Is the resting-place of the immortal Jacob Blasdell (see 
poem). Jonathan and Enoch, and others of the excellent 
Blasdell family, reside here, in honor, peace^ and plenty, 
my ever constant friends. Here, too, is Squire Dawson, a 
worthy son of old John Dawson, who settled here more 
than sixty years ago. Indians once entered his cabin in a 
menacing manner, and attempted to tomahawk his wife, 
and, of course, himself, too. As he could talk Indian well, 
he drew his rifle upon them, told them not to stir upon 
their peril, for the first one that moved his tomahawk would 
be a dead man. Holding them all at bay, he talked to 
them, and then told them all to retire in peace and quiet, 
which they promptly obeyed. There are presence of mind 



HISTORICAL. 441 

and intrepidity for you, in the hour of peril, worthy a Ro- 
man general! He once came suddenly upon a large pan- 
ther, which was intent upon other game, and shot him 
when within a few paces of him, just as the panther was 
making ready for him. He once brought a large cast-iron 
kettle, clear from Cincinnati, upon his shoulder and upon 
his horse. He killed a large elk on the Darling Ridge, 
more than fifty years ago, and the last of the kind in this 
region. These are scenes in a forest life, for you, worth 
preserving. 

Here old Father Ray was drowned — the "Old Man of 
the Mountain," whose poem we have already quoted. He 
was quite a writer, and father of Martin M. Ray, of Indi- 
anapolis, a gentleman of worth and of extensive fame. 
Captain Gibbs, of Mexican notoriety, resides here, as do 
also my other friends, the Knapps, the Craigs, the Now- 
lands, the Hobinsons, and other friends, all good and true. 
My venerable friends, old Father and Mother Frazier, once 
nad a fearful runaway, and both were badly injured. They 
still live, at a good ripe old age, surrounded with plenty, 
and beloved by friends. 

Here was the first incorporated college in the State, I 
believe ; a timber house, some twenty by twenty-four feet 
square, and here it still stands, in a dilapidated state. A 
log building for a college ! Did you ever ? Yes, such was 
the beginning of our high literary institutions, which now 
beautify and adorn the State. — "Despise not the day of 
small things." 

Why, reader, the first schoolhouse I ever occupied was 
built of round logs, chinked and pointed with mud, pun- 
cheon floors, cat chimney, and oiled paper for glass, as 
before stated: and if I don't know something about a 
pioneer's life, who does ? Well, we have excellent school- 
houses, and seminaries, and colleges now, and I rejoice 
that I have lived to see it. my young readers, how you 
ought to appreciate and improve your "better inheritance." 



442 cotton's keepsake/ 



SALT FORK CHURCH. 

Good old Jehu Goodwin settled in this county in 1800. 
Indians were numerous, and richly ornamented with silver 
and other showy trinkets ; for a single load of powder, 
could purchase much silver ; could talk Indian well ; once 
went to their camp, near Georgetown, and. joined in their 
sports; could outjump, outrun, and outshoot them; per- 
formed all these feats in one day, and jocosely said : " In- 
dian good for nothing. I beat him at jump, run, and shoot^ 
and now I can beat him with bow and arrow/' That was 
an indignity not to be borne, and in a moment an Indian 
seized his bow, and drew a bead upon him — his eye flash- 
ing fire ; and he thought himself " a goner ;" but another 
Indian in a moment seized his arm, and turned away his 
shot, and he escaped, as by a miracle. He trembles now 
when he calls the scene up to mind. 

Saw fine elk, but never had the good fortune to take 
one; killed one deer, with six balls in it, all well and 
sound. A bear once suddenly sprang upon him ; he 
drew his tomahawk ; bear wheeled and escaped. He and 
his dog had many a hard tussle with bears, wolves, and 
panthers. 

" Me and the old woman have lived together fifty-five 
years," said he, " and never had a quarrel nor a fight 
yet." " No," said his good lady, pleasantly ; " I started 
off right with him, and have had no difficulty since." 
Fifty-five years without a quarrel or a fight, and all owing 
to a right start ! Young gentlemen and ladies do all they 
can to please and to win the afiections of each other, get 
married, and then to start right, the gentleman sets up 
his authority to let his better half know, in the start, that 
he will never submit to " petticoat government," and the 
lady sets up that she is not to be a slave, to be domineered 
over by her husband ; and this they call starting right — live 
in strife and confusion ; quarrel and fight like cats and 
dogs ; wear out life in pain and sorrow, and die unloved and 



HISTORICAL. 443 

unlamented. Young ladies are sometimes very captivating 
and lovely; keep every thing as nice and "neat as a pink'' 
about them ; get married ; set up for themselves ; become 
slovenly and careless, fretful and peevish ; make home a 
prison house and a bedlam ; drive their husbands to dis- 
traction ; drive t^iem from home ; and in they plunge into 
dissipation, to drown their grief and mortification ; their 
wives making a wonderful ado about neglect and dissipa- 
tion, when they have brought all upon themselves, by what 
they thought was "starting off right." I am emphatically, 
and I believe, by universal consent, am admitted to be most 
emphatically a lady's man, nor would I be any thing else; 
yet I know ladies who have mean, worthless, drunken hus- 
bands, that are a thousand times too good for them, because 
they have made them what they are by their own neglect 
and willfulness. I tell you that such do not start off right. 
"Mother Goodwin, you say you started off rights and have 
lived happy all your days; will you please impart the 
happy secret?" "0, certainly; after I was married, I 
took more pains to accommodate and please my husband 
than I did before, and he has always done the same by me." 
"0 ho! really been 'sparking' all your days, eh?" "Just 
so," said she; "that's the way to do it always." Do you 
hear that, girls? Boys, do you? "A word to the wise is 
sufficient." 

Father Goodwin knew a Mr. William G , an Indian 

captive, who could charm all the birds around him ; has 
seen as many as two dozen fluttering around his head and 
shoulders at a time ; has seen him do it often, any where in 
the woods. Who can explain? What wonder next? Wait 
a little, and I will tell you. (See Pennsylvaniaburg.) Enoch 
Jackson, a strong and popular man in the county, an ex- 
representative, lost the sight of both his eyes in a very 
sudden and painful manner, and then was thrown from a 
runaway horse and buggy, broke his thigh, and is a man 
of sore affliction, sharing largely in the commiseration of 
his friends; was once my competitor for oJSice, and the 



444 cotton's keepsake. 

"worst thing I ever said about him was said in great plea- 
santry : "General Jackson, at New Orleans, kept behind 
the cotton, and I hope my friends will keep Enoch a little 
behind, too \" and a roar of laughter followed, I assure you. 
I, however, declined a poll, for which my friends chide me 
to this day. All for the best, friends. 

Old Ezekial Jackson, for years representative, was twice 
badly bitten by a copperhead-snake. Edward Jackson was 
killed by the falling of a tree, years ago. Many persons 
here have died suddenly w^ith the milk sickness. My 
friends, Charles and Amanda Philbrick, one of ray most 
cherished pupils, gave me a warm reception and kind en- 
tertainment. Called upon my friend, Thomas Langdale, 
and was never more pleasingly and happily entertained. 
His estimable daughter, Jane, is lady of the house, since 
the death of her dear good mother; and I must say, I 
never knew a daughter perform such a task better ; " neat 
as a pink," and " smart as a steel-trap," as was her younger 
sister, Martha. Every thing in and about the house was 
kept in " apple-pie order." Expressing my admiration to 
her neighbors, they said that she was an exception ; that 
no encomium could exceed her merit. If she is not what 
some would call "a perfect beauty," she certainly is a very 
comely young lady, and her neat appearance, affability of 
manners, intelligence of mind, and amiability of heart, 
makes her both lovely and beautiful, indeed. And if I 
were a young man, I should, perchance, conceal this rich 
jewel, until I could exultingly call it my own, or at least 
try so to do. I devote this space as an act of justice to 
my fair friend, Miss Langdale, and to encourage all other 
daughters, similarly circumstanced, to " go thou and do 
likewise." 

WESLEY CHAPEL. 

John Gibson, a revolutionary soldier, died here. His 
lady, at ninety, is smart and active. Here is the residence 
of the Rev. Thomas Hargett, one of the most eminent local 



HISTORICAL. 445 

preachers in the county, to -whom, as to Robert Haddock, 
Daniel Cloud, John Gibson, and others, I am much indebted 
for the interest taken in my book enterprise. 

My ever-cherished friend, John Wilson, died suddenly, 
after a short but painful illness. His brother Daniel died 
soon after, with the apoplexy. A son of good old Father 
Bean came running around the corner of the house at the 
exact moment when a man had shot at a mark. The ball 
took him fair in the head, and he fell a bleeding corpse in 
his tracks. 

For the first time in my life, I have this day stood by 
the grave of Amasa Fuller, who was executed at Lawrence- 
burgh, many a long year ago. (See Ballad.) And the 
whole "tragic scene" came up vividly before me again. 
I saw him come out of the jail — saw him baptized and 
partake of the holy sacrament — saw Elder Daniel Plummer, 
with uplifted hands, and heard his stentorian voice, as 
though he intended to make the whole world hear — 
warn young gentlemen and ladies to be careful how 
they trifle with "won affections and plighted vows." Saw 
the cap drawn over poor Fuller's face — saw him drop — 
saw him struggle in death — saw him cut doAvn — saw the 
lancet applied, if, peradventure, it might resuscitate him — 
saw him handed over to his friends to be buried ; and 
here, poor man, he lies. And here, too, by his side lies 
the friend who took charge of him, whose history adds 
much to the interest of the tragic scene. The sketch which 
I am about to give has no parallel in all the history of 
the world, at least so far as I am acquainted — too painful 
to read, and yet too singular to be lost. For it is the 
Daniel Fuller, who took charge of the body of Aniasa, 
after his execution. Shortly after that he had a falling 
out with a Mr. Goulding, a brother-in-law, brother to his 
lady. Goulding called Fuller out into the door, and after 
a few words, shot him through the body, just below the 
heart. Fuller fell, then got up, went into the house, lin- 
gered several hours in pain, and. died. Goulding passed 



446 cotton's keepsake. 

down the lane a short distance, re-loaded his rifle, applied 
the muzzle to his breast, and with his ramrod discharged 
it, receiving the full contents, and fell, but survived a few 
hours, and expired a few moments after Fuller did. Those 
who were witnesses of the scene say it beggars all descrip- 
tion. The gushing blood, the writhing victims, the out- 
cries of distracted friends, may be conceived but told never. 
Well, a few years after this, a brother of this man, Gould- 
ing, hung himself at Wilmington, as before noticed, and 
another brother, I believe, accidentally shot himself while 
crossing the Ohio river, as before noticed, also. So much, 
then, for the tragic end of the Goulding family. And now 
for the Fuller family — Amasa was hung, Daniel, we have 
just said, was shot, his two sons both died together in the 
hospital down south ; one of his brothers was all mangled 
and torn in a mill just below Harrison ; another brother 
was taken captive by the Indians — made his escape — fell 
into a dispute with a man in Illinois, who struck him with 
a heavy hoe upon the head, and he fell, and gasped, and 
died. And to crown the climax, old Father Fuller was 
charged in early time with killing an Indian — the sheriff 
arrested him upon his warrant, took him upon a horse for 
Cincinnati, and to make sure of him, tied his feet under 
the horse and started, but, having no roads, following 
blazed tracks and by-paths, they accidentally ran afoul of 
a large hornet's nest, the hornets alighting both upon him 
and the horse, he lost his balance, the horse, maddened 
and frightened to frenzy, ran off with might and main, 
dashing the old gentleman against trees, logs, and every- 
thing else, until his brains and all his bowels were dashed 
and torn out, and he literally torn into shreds and atoms. 
This, if not minutely, is all substantially correct. It occur- 
red not in the far-off isles of the sea ; it is not a story of 
fiction, but of truth, that took place right here in our 
midst, in Dearborn county, and State of Indiana ; and I 
am a living witness to much of it myself. What a history ! 



HISTORICAL. 447 

"What a tragical mortality I What a lesson to contemplate ! 
And where, 0, where can its parallel be found ? " He that 
readeth, let him understand." 



That excellent man, Aaron Bonham, and his good lady, 
have resided in this county more than sixty years. Mrs. 
Bonham, then a Miss Guard, sister to Bayley Guard, that 
■worthy citizen, once encountered a bear, as before noticed. 
Friend Bonham had a fearful runaway thirty years ago, 
and has been injured by it ever since. Here, too, is my 
merry friend, Reuben Rogers, for years the county auditor, 
and an excellent officer, seldom if ever equaled, and surely 
never surpassed. Reuben is some, I tell ye ! My friends 
here did a noble part by me. Here Scoggins was murdered. 
(See Ballad.) A son of Wm. Jackson, his supposed mur- 
derer, accidentally shot himself and died, poor fellow. A 
Mr. Lemon was gored to death by one of his oxen in the 
yard — a fearful and a tragic scene. John Donnaho was 
suddenly killed by the falling of a tree. Here was the 
former residence of our worthy friends, Jacob Dennis and 
Aaron Scoggin, early settlers, now no more. 

SUGAR GROVE CHURCH. 

Here I find my old neighbor and friend Robert 
McCracken, the first settler in Manchester. (See Man- 
chester.) Here, too, is the venerable Father and Mother 
Crozier, who have resided in the county for more than a 
half century — have lived together as man and wife about 
sixty years — have raised a large family, of whom Hon. 
John Crozier, of Sparta, ex-representative, is one, and a 
first rate citizen, at that. Joseph Stephens, a distinguished 
citizen, resides here. I once decided a long and vexatious 
chancery suit, to which he was a party, in part upon 
grounds that neither party had suggested, and which de- 
cision seemed satisfactory to both the litigant parties, and 



448 cotton's keepsake. 

thus ended a long and vexatious suit. The reminiscence 
is to me a pleasing reflection, and hence I record it here. 
My early and ever-cherished friends Joseph Adams and 
Matthew Svvann "lie slumbering with the peaceful dead." 

ELIZABETHTOWN, 
So named in honor of Mrs. Elizabeth Mills, wife of Isaac 
Mills, and sister to Judge Dunn, one of the most excellent 
women that ever lived. Her kind, good husband died sud- 
denly, while attending Quarterly Meeting, at Manchester, 
and was returned to a most fond wife and family 

" Still and cold in death." 
She survived him several years, and then " fell asleep in 
Jesus." Her son, General Charles Mills, one of the finest 
men in all my acquaintance, died in rather a singular man- 
ner, universally beloved and lamented. A Mr, Hays fell 
from his wagon, many years ago, broke his leg — the bone 
actually pinning him to the earth. Refusing amputation, 
died with a fearful convulsion, while I held his hand in 
mine. A youngster, sitting upon the ground, and throwing 
his knife each side of his leg, in play, accidentally severed 
the femoral artery in his thigh, and bled to death. Poor 
boy ! Another excellent young man was picking the flint 
of his gun, when it accidentally went off, and killed his 
kind little friend; which almost grieved him to death. 
A Mr. Dickinson, also, moved away, and hung himself, 
much to the grief of his dear children, whom I know and 
love. Here Mrs. Abraham was consumed by fire in her 
wagon, as before noticed. My friends, Lewis Dunn and 
lady, and good old Father and Mother Scroggins, and that 
most precious and good woman, Mrs. McHenry, and Mrs. 
Dr. Brower, have left their friends upon earth to join those 
that are in heaven. The doctor has married another ex- 
cellent lady — a fortune he well deserved. My venerable 
friend. Major McHenry, still survives at a good old age; so 
does my cherished friend, good old Mother Tebow. Both 
have been exceedingly kind to me. 



HISTORICAL. 449 

In 1826, I taught school here, through the kind influence 
of my friend. Dr. Brewer, whose kindness I can never for- 
get nor sufficiently acknowledge. Lawj^er Abram Brower 
was then one of my best pupils. Neither of us then anti- 
cipated our future connections or future destinies, as before 
intimated. Ilis, at least, is a bright and brilliant one. 0, 
how sweet the cherished remembrance of my pupils and of 
all my old Elizabethtown friends. 

I have already said that Major McHenry and lady were 
exceedingly kind. They were constant and liberal in their 
favors, and of course, I and my lady felt under great obli- 
gations to them, and both really longed for an opportunity 
to show it ; at last it presented itself, and we gladly em- 
braced it. The major said if we would not take it amiss, 
his lady would be pleased if mine would pick a little wool 
for them — some fifteen or twenty pounds. "0, certainly, 
with great pleasure," said Mrs. Cotton. AYell, along came 
the wool, and we both " pitched into it" with a hearty good 
will. When completed, the major examined it, and said it 
was decidedly the nicest job of the kind he ever had done. 

" How much shall I pay you for it, Mrs. Cotton?" 

"Pay ! why, sir, don't say pay ; you are a thousand times 
welcome to it," said Mrs. Cotton, "you have been so ex- 
ceedingly kind to us." 

" Well, now, Mrs. Cotton, we intended this wool as a pre- 
sent to you, so soon as picked," said the major. 

And sure enough, he would take neither pay nor wool ; 
thus we had the materials for a good web of cloth, which 
served us well and timely. We could scarcely sleep that 
night for joy and gratitude, for to us, at the time, it was a 
"lift" indeed, and a noble and generous act, too good to be 
untold. Most gratefully do I cherish the names of Major 
McIIenry and his sainted precious lady, and my loved little 
Margaret and Frances, pupils ever dear to my heart. May 
we all meet at last in "that better land above." Even so, 
amen. 

38 



450 cotton's KJEEPSAKE, 



LOCUST GROVE SCHOOLHOUSE 
Is in the neighborhood of Bond's old mill. In early 
times I got my grinding done here ; a tour and a trip of 
some two or three days, as noticed in my "Forest Ode." 
The old gentleman and lady passed away years ago, loved 
and lamented. Their son, Edmund, one of the finest, most 
generous-hearted young men I ever knew, came to a pain- 
ful and tragic death. Leading a young horse from the 
stable, he wound the halter around his hand, so as to have 
a sure and fast hold. The horse came out, rearing and 
pitching in a frolicksome manner, took the turn on him, 
and ran off. His hand being held fast, Mr. Bond was soon 
prostrated, and the horse took fright, dragging him all over 
the yard, hitting him against posts and fences, actually 
dashed his brains out, tore his hand from his wrist, and 
left him a mangled and bleeding corpse. So much for 
making his hand fast. 

I used to think that Charles Mills, Edward Hunt, and 
Edmund Bond were three as nice young gentlemen as I 
ever knew, and still think so. Mr. Hunt only lives, and 
is an out-and-out gentleman — a No. 1, all the time. Here 
Wm. Lancaster, brother to Robert Lancaster, of Guilford, 
was killed by the falling of a tree, many years ago. An- 
other brother was killed by lightning in a singular man- 
ner ; he was an excellent and worthy man, as is my friend 
Robert. My old friends, Samuel Eeese and lady are no 
more. 

My visit to the mill brought fresh to my mind the re- 
miniscences of the past, and I sighed for the loved and 
lost, as I thought of the scenes and the days of yore. My 
young friends, A. J. Gance and lady, kindly and cheerfully 
entertained me, and interested themselves much in my be- 
half; for which my lasting gratitude is due. What pleas- 
ing — what melancholy reflections cluster around "Bond's 

old mill r 



HISTORICAL 451 



BURK S SCHOOLHOUSE. 

Now, reader, snuff your candle, rub your eyes, and take 
a good long breath, and then you may proceed ; and if you 
do n't say this is some, " my name is Haynes/' Isaac 
Brooks, who is a neat and model farmer, and an excellent, 
truth-telling man, and to whom I am kindly indebted, in- 
formed me that there were snakes of enormous size about 
Jemison's Run ; that he had several times seen one that 
must have been, he thinks, not less than twelve feet long, 
and I think he said, as large as his thigh. One was once 
killed in the neighborhood, that measured just eleven feet. 
There's a snake story for you, right here in Dearborn 
county. 

My friend, David Williams, who settled here in early life, 
says, that the wolves were so thick he had to watch his 
sheep by day as well as by night, and that they often gath- 
ered around him while thus engaged. Panthers of enor- 
mous size were plenty. One once accosted two little boys, 
close by him, but by a wonderful presence of mind, the 
little fellows escaped. He had killed many bears, and one 
close to his cabin door. He also informed me that old 
Aunt Betsey Garritson, now eighty odd years old, then liv- 
ing in his neighborhood, went out to bring up the cows, 
with her trusty dog by her side. Alone in the woods, she 
was beset with a bear ; Jowler stepped in between her and 
harm, and pitched into old Bruin, " like a thousand of 
brick," who, however, proved more than a match for him. 
Aunt Betsey neither screamed, nor fainted, nor ran away, 
but flew about and hunted up a good, sound, wieldy club, 
or handspike, and rushed to Jowler's rescue ; and when 
she could safely do so, without endangering life or limb of 
Jowler, bang and bang she gave it to Bruin every time 
she could see a chance for a fair lick. It began to come 
so "hot and heavy," that Bruin thought it the better- way 
to let up Jowler and try Aunt Betsey. Anticipating his 
maneuver, she fell back a little, and Bruin after her. Jow- 



452 cotton's keepsake. 

ler was no sooner up than he had Bruin by the hamstring 
again, and so, having his hands full with Jowler, he let 
Aunt Betsey take care of herself for awhile longer. Tussle, 
tussle, with dog and bear, when, pop ! Aunt Betsey took 
the bear again, with a right hearty good-will. Bruin made 
another pass at her, but Jowler seeeraed to say — " You shall 
never harm my mistress while I live" — and, nab, he took 
him again ; and Aunt Betsey seemed to say — " You shall 
never harm my trusty dog, while there is strength in my 
arm to strike a blow." And now, with a double over- 
handed lick, ker-whack ! she took him fair across his " how 
d'ye do?" department, stove in his forcastle, and he fell 
quivering to the earth, where she " gave him Jessie" to 
her heart's content, and then drove up the cows, and re- 
ported progress. What do you think of that, young ladies? 
Could you do it, think? This story is substantially true — 
I have it on good authority, and know aunt Betsey well. 
Such were our forest women ! Had this wonderful feat 
been performed in the Rocky Mountains or upon the Alps, 
all the journals in the land would have heralded it abroad, 
all over the world, years ago ; and mine is the fortune and 
the pleasure to rescue it from oblivion. This story itself is 
worth all I ask for my little book — aint it, reader ? 

But I am not done with this neighborhood yet. Eulic 
Burk, now well stricken in years, a resident here for about 
the last half century, confirms all that I have written, and 
adds, that he once found a snake egg, the size of a com- 
mon hen's egg, just ready to hatch. The young snake, not 
yet at maturity, was eight or nine inches long, and as 
savage as a snake could well be — evidently, one of these 
large snakes, to which reference has been made. At an- 
other time, his dog had got something at bay about an old 
fence. After awhile, he went out, saw a large snake that 
seemed much distended, succeeded in killing it, and, upon 
an examination, found thirty-two, young, and pretty well 
grown snakes in it. Demonstrating the old tradtion, that 
snakes swallow their young in the time of danger, or rather 



HISTORICAL. 453 

that the young ones hide themselves thus, when an alarm 
is given. Even the affection and care of a mother snake 
commands our admiration. Burk's brother, Elisha, and 
Mr. A. Thompson, while at the mill, heard a fearful outcry 
among the hogs, and, rushing out, saw a monstrous panther 
upon one of the shoats — the three dogs were on hand in a 
moment. Panther let up, and took to a tree— a shot only 
broke his foreleg, and in attempting to jump to another 
tree, and not making due allowance for the crippled leg, 
came short of the tree and fell; the dogs all mounted him, 
and would all have been whipped, had the men not timely 
interfered. He would catch a dog in his sound paw, and 
actually hold him clear from the earth, with his sharp 
talons piercing him through and through, the poor dog call- 
ing out lustily for quarters or for help all the time. He 
would down with him, and up with another in the same 
way. Could not shoot again without hitting a dog, which, 
■with a woodsman, can not be thought of; so taking up a 
handspike, one of the men rushed into the dangerous strife, 
and fortunately hit the panther a fjital blow, without injury 
to the dogs. The panther measured, from nose to end of 
the tail, eleven feet. Monstrous ! Had seen as many as 
five hundred turkeys at one time ; deer, as thick as pigeons. 
Wolves, bears, and panthers, and Indians numerous. Some 
little difficulties, but no Indian tragedies worthy of record- 
ing. And, I conclude with a wolf story, which I have from 
good old Father Burk. One old wolf, more cunning than 
the rest, somewhere found a safe retreat, and committed, 
numerous depredations, with seeming impunity, after all 
the others were either killed, or had removed to parts 
unknown. And every attempt to decoy or take her, proved 
abortive and vain. At last a great wolf hunter from Penn- 
sylvania, whose trapping operations had been crowned with 
signal success, about the Alleghany Mountains and the 
Susquehanna river, came into the place, and undertook 
to try his skill here. The first morning, he discovered that 
she had been about; next morning he put out early, and 



454 cotton's keepsake. 

soon came back " full tilt," exclaiming, I have her ! The bal- 
ance of the story is rather painful and inhuman, but I record it 
for the moral — for the instruction it imparts. The trapper 
called to his aid several men, went and tied the mouth 
of the wolf with a strong twine — then tied all her legs 
together, swung her under a pole which two men took on 
their shoulders, and brought her into Burk's yard, and 
laid her down; then he took a switch, and made miss wolf 
actually lay still at a word — then he untied her mouth, 
and with a stone, actually broke out all her teeth, and then 
set his pack of dogs upon her, until Father Burk told him 
it was too cruel, he could stand it no longer, and he must 
kill her forthwith, or remove. Accordingly, he dispatched 
her at once; and I stood upon the fatal and tragic spot, 
and sighed at the recital of such cruelty. That scene, 
Father Burk says, has haunted him ever since, and he never 
thinks of the man without a shudder. Now the moral is 
this: Wicked acts of cruelty haunt men to their graves, 
and curse their memory when they are dead. But more 
of this in another place. All that I have here recorded, 
took place, not in the moon, but right here among us, a 
few miles south of Harrison, on the Whitewater, in Dear- 
born County. I now leave it for the reader to say, if this 
sketch. Aunt Betsey and all, is not too good to be lost, 
is not hard to beat, and worth a dollar easy ? And I here 
pause for a reply. 

HAKRISON 

Is a beautiful village, upon the Whitewater, divided by the 
State line, and named in honor of the lamented General 
Harrison, Alvah Ross and his ever dear sister, Emeline, 
now the accomplished and agreeable Mrs. Phillis, children 
of my early and lamented friend, Philander Boss, heretofore 
mentioned, reside here, and gave me a most kind and cor- 
dial reception. They seem more like children than friends. 
How the scenes of early life came thronging back upon the 
memory, and we rejoiced and wept together over them. 



HISTORICAL. 455 

Colonel "Warner Tebbs, the veteran soldier, the early set- 
tler, and a worthy good citizen, resides here, as do also 
Dr. Clark, Squire Godly, and Squire Bowlsby, my early 
and my special friends. Here Burdsel killed his wife 
with a hand ax, and friend Bowlsby informs me that the 
spectacle was awfully horrible, and for which Burdsel was 
hung in Cincinnati, I believe. Recently, a Mr. Bender 
stabbed a Mr. Teller, and he fell a bleeding corpse. Just 
north a little, a young and fair bride came to a tragical 
end. On their way to the infair, they were met by a 
shivareeing party; the bride's horse took fright — dashed 
off into the wood ; the bride lost her balance, and fell, but 
her foot held her fast in the stirrup, and away went the 
horse, dashing its unfortunate rider against trees and every 
thing else, until she was torn almost limb from limb — de- 
nuded of all her fine apparel ; nor could she be rescued 
from the frantic animal until he, a noble creature, was 
shot, and fell upon her mangled corpse. 0, these foolish 
shivareeing affairs, how I abominate them. They are de- 
signed for a little sport, but are a great annoyance, and 
often end in mischief. Here remember Thomas Wilcox ; 
see more hereafter. 

Old Father Swales was drowned in attempting to cross 
the river here, many years ago. Old Father Pu reel's son 
was killed by lightning, and the old gentleman, fall of 
years and honors, now slumbers by his side. I found my 
friend, D. Plummer, just ready to move, much to the regret 
of all his friends. My friends did nobly by me here. 
Friends Rittenhouse and Shroyer, and their exceedingly 
kind ladies, extended to me a hearty welcome, and a most 
agreeable entertainment. My worthy and early friend, 
George Arnold, Esq., ex-representative, etc., has left the 
State, much to the regret of his friends. My old friends, 
Mr. Hoyter and Edward Rowe, and his good lady, whose 
names and memories are deeply engraven upon my heart, 
have also removed, dearly loved and greatly missed. Mrs. 



456 cotton's keepsake. 

Kowe is a sister to Mrs. McMath. The blessings of all 
their friends abide them still. 

The excellent pastor of the M. E. Church, a Mr. , 

laid me under great obligations for his official and personal 
kindness. The Lord bless him ! Such generous acts 1 
highly appreciate, and never forget. 

CHAPELOW'S SCHOOLHOUSE 

Is near Hinkston's old mill, on the Whitewater. Here re^ 
sides that sainted man, Father Chapelow, eighty-four years 
old, and sixty-five years a member of the church. It is 
worthy of a pilgrimage to join him in his pious family 
devotions. The lines quoted at Elder Meader's, are pecu- 
liarly appropriate here. Old Father Barbor, Richard Ar- 
nold, and Zedekiah Bonham, my early and worthy friends, 
reside here. Jonathan Hallowell and William Ilinkston, 
so favorably known, have removed, loved and cherished. 
Here just in sight, Noyes and Crouch were drowned — see 
ballad. In attempting to ford at the mill, a young lady 
was drowned, under circumstances peculiarly painful ; she 
was making preparations for her wedding, which was to 
come off in a few days. Poor girl ! Here Daniel Lake, 
by an unfortunate blow in a personal strife, killed a Mr, 
Smith — voluntarily gave himself up, was tried, and ac- 
quitted as a justifiable homicide. Old Father Hinkston 
was found dead in his garden. Daniel Kersey, whom I 
knew and loved in Maine, while in the act of opening a 
Sabbath-school by prayer, fell over, and expired in a mo- 
ment. To him, how soon was "prayer lost in praise." 

"Be ye also ready, for in such an hour as ye think not, 
the son of man cometh." 



Here resides the Rev. Mr. Baldrige, a somewhat eminent 
minister of the Christian or Campbellite Church, a worthy 



HISTORICAL. 457 

citizen, and my familiar and kind friend ; has a most in- 
teresting and well educated family ; lives at home^ in easy 
and happy circumstances. Here, too, are my good friends, 
Dr. Swales and brothers, sons of old Father Swales, before 
noticed, George Lynas, Enoch Lynas, Andrew Smith, J. 
W. Moss, F. H. Gibson, J. W. Liddle, and D. D. Morgan. 
Old Father Cloud, and other early and kind friends, reside 
here. A little north, a girl left home in the night time, 
under censurable circumstances, and was found in the 
morning with a heavy rail across her breast, and she cold 
and stiff in death. Poor girl! 

LOGAN. 

Here I have had some " tall times " in the temperance 
cause. - Old Father Bodine, at an early day, hung out his 
temperance sign, which subjected him to the scoffs and 
jeers of the drinking boys ; but it told well upon reform. 
It set men to thinking and talking, and every conclusion 
was that temperance was a fine thing. Fling out your 
banners every where to the breeze ! I have no language 
to adequately express my gratitude to my early, constant, 
and good friends, Charles Jolley, Esq., William Laird, 
James Salmon, Isaac Southard, Z. A. Bonham, William 
Horner, Claude Boatman and brother, friend Albah, and 
others, for personal kindness and favors. Good old Father 
and Mother Horner, Father Shane, Father and Mother 
Southard, Mrs. Laird, and Mrs. Salmon, have passed away, 
bemoaned and missed. In 1853, a tornado swept over the 
country here, such as I have never witnessed, either in the 
hour of its terror, or in its devastating effects. The inci- 
dents, thrilling and marvellous, would fill quite a volume ; 
but I have not the space to spare, and so must deny myself 
the mournful pleasure. My friend, William Cox, sang a 
lay of some length and merit upon the occasion. Horses, 
cattle and hogs, in considerable numbers, died hereabouts 
with the bite of mad dogs. I saw some of them in their 
39 



458 cotton's keepsake. 

frothing, foaming convulsions. Happily no human lives 
Tvere lost. 

DOVER. 

Good old Father and Mother Levris settled here in 1815, 
when fires and torches were necessary to keep the howling 
beasts at bay. I have known them long, and loved them 
well ; and although the old gentleman embraced a system 
of religion which I think, taken as a system in to-to, is ex- 
ceedingly erroneous and fallacious; yet I ever regarded 
him as being strictly pious, in the most orthodox sense 
of the word, and doubt not that he is happy with the Re- 
deemer on high. He was certainly an excellent man, and 
raised one of the kindest and best families I ever knew — > 
friends that are worth their weight in gold. My most in- 
timate acquaintance, however, is with my friends, Freeborn 
and John Lewis, and their exceedingly kind and pleasant 
families, to which I may safely add their kind brothers 
and sisters. Mr. and Mrs. Rawling, before noticed, well 
deserve a place. Here was the former residence of my 
eloquent friend, J. F. Watkins, ex-representative, orator, 
etc. Good old Mother Watkins, Mrs. McGrath, Lawrence 
McGuire, William Swift, and others, old and true friends, 
reside here. One hunter killed fifty-two deer in one winter, 
and another took five young wolves at a time, right here 
about Dover. 

LAWRENCEVILLE. 

Isaac Lawrence is all that now remains of the numerous 
and excellent Lawrence family. Old Isaac Lawrence died 
suddenly, and George was found dead in the field. Major 
Lewis, ex-representative, and Squire Williams, Eber Jones, 
and Nicholas Yeager, are about all that is left of the 
old stock. Mrs. Ahijah Wilson, my early friend, buried 
her husband, her father, one child, one brother, and two 
cousins, in less than one year. A tree was felled upon a 
young lady as she was passing by, which crushed her to 



HISTORICAL. 459 

death. A Mr. Young was also killed hj the falling of a 
tree. Christopher Hoover was thrown from a runaway 
wagon, his pipe-stem drove into his throat in such a fear- 
ful manner, that he died soon after. 0, tlie pipe and the 
cigar ! 

And now for the Ilazen family, *' Look here, every- 
body,'' The Widow Hazen, daughter of the lamented old 
Father Stewart, had ten children, and nine of them were 
living when her oldest child lacked twenty odd days of 
being eleven years old ! I saw them years ago, when it 
was difficult to tell which was the oldest. Such an inter- 
esting sight I never before or since saw anywhere. Did 
you, reader? Ten children, and nine living, and the oldest 
not eleven years old ! AYell, it will unravel the marvel 
somewhat, when I inform you that there were three pair 
of twins. Francis Marion, the odd twin, is a very worthy 
and promising young Baptist minister; his two sisters at 
home are excellent school teachers, and exceedingly pleas- 
ant young ladies. Mother Hazen is happy at home, and 
happy in the hope of a blissful immortality hereafter. 
When I take my seat in " the Senate of the United States," 
my first move will be to secure to mother Hazen a whole 
congressional township of land, to which I think she is 
"well entitled as a prolific mother, and an excellent woman. 

PENNSYLVANIABURGH. 

Here I am quite at home among early friends — have 
pronounced several national and one special oration on the 
occasion of the return of the corpse of my friend Sunman, 
from the plains of Mexico, before noticed. The old gen- 
tleman and his son Thomas, and indeed all the family, 
have been most liberal and kind to me. I have preached 
their funerals and pronounced their oration, for all of 
which services I have been most liberally compensated. 
As I said of another, so I say of the Sunman's; if all had 
dealt as liberally with me, I should have abundance and 



460 cotton's keepsake. 

to spare. And still they are all in with a hearty good 
■will and a liberal patronage for my book. Such friends 
all deserve a special notice. The Squire paid me in ad- 
vance for five copies of my book, $5.00. Good for the 
Squire. Here was the former residence of Elder Palmer, 
that excellent and able minister of the Baptist Church, 
who now sleeps at Center Square, in Switzerland county. 
David Ferine, father of the Rev. Dr. Ferine, a gentleman 
so well and so favorably known, Wm. Vansile, Feter Van- 
sile, Robert Cunningham, and Samuel Alden are the prin- 
cipal old settlers left; all of whom I have long known 
and long respected. Thomas Clark's son was killed — 
thrown from a runaway team and wagon. John Osbora 
was killed by the falling of a tree. A Mr. Barnhart acci- 
dentally shot himself, and died soon. Isaac Alden, father 
of Hon. Alvin J. Alden, ex-representative, while dressing 
a calf, his knife accidentally plunged into his thigh, severed 
the femoral artery, and he bled to death in a few moments, 
and one of his children was scalded to death. Mrs. Alden 
is a daughter of old Father Morgan, who was drowned in 
Tanner's creek, as before noticed, is an excellent woman, 
and enjoys both peace and plenty. Robert Cunningham 
had a little child scalded to death with the boiling con- 
tents of a teapot, which it tipped over into its little bosom. 
Poor thing. He also lost three children and one grand- 
child, in a few days. Another little child was scalded to 
death in a kettle of boiling lard. An old citizen shot his 
wife, and is now in the penitentiary for it. Joseph Nicely 
was found dead in an open room. And Wm. H. Brewer, 
supposed to be murdered, both sons-in-law to Mr. and Mrs. 
Peter Vanzile. How painful, how tragical their ends. The 
venerable good old Isaac Colman was found dead in hia 
bed, all alone. 

" Found dead — dead and alone, 
On a pillow soft, on a snow white sheet, 

Nobody heard his last faint moan, 

Or knew when his heart had ceased to beat. 



HISTORICAL. 461 

No mourner lingers with tears and sighs, 
Save the twinkling stars with their brilliant eyes, 
And the night wind passed with a wailing sound, 
By the dying couch where his form was found. 

Found dead and alone — and yet not alone. 
Some one was there — some friend stood near, 

To claim his spirit as his own — 

To hear him sigh and mark his tear; 

One, when every friendly human door 

Is closed to his children, lone and poor, 

And opes the heavenly portal wide, 

Ah, yes ! God was near when the good man died." 

Samuel Alden, the great fruit and nursery man, was once 
really charmed with a large blacksnake. The snake got 
his eye upon a fixed gaze — he stood a moment — everything 
began to look bewitchingly beautiful. 0, he never saw 
anything so pretty — felt it impossible to keep from ap- 
proaching, though he knew the power of a charm was 
upon him, and to approach would be death. Finally move 
he must, and move he did, and with a mighty effort, closed 
his eyes, turned his- face, and felt released, though chilly 
and faint. He says he would not encounter the same strug- 
gle and feeling again for a thousand dollars. We have 
shown that men can charm birds, and now, more wonder- 
ful still, that snakes can charm men. The snake would 
have coiled around his neck and choked him to death, as 
their manner is, had he not, by a mighty mental and 
physical effort, thrown off " the spell that bound him." 

This is a snake story worth telling, from a man of truth 
and veracity. 



John Taylor, Bryant Connely, Esq., Alvin J. Alden, 
George Anderson, and Thomas Ehler, are about all the 
early friends left here. Friend Ehler is one of the few 



462 cotton's keepsake. 

paying friends, whom I have with ministerial duties served 
at the burial of his dear children, and deserves well to be 
enrolled upon that list of friends, whom I have found to be, 

"Like angel's visits, few and far between." 

Michael Ehler fell dead on his floor in a minute. His 
father-in-law, Mr. Schuter, fell from a load of hay and broke 
his neck. John Hendricks fell from a tree, in pursuit of 
a swarm of bees, and died in a few hours. A fearful mur- 
der and robbery took place in this community, years ago. 
A man by the name of Hellion, it was supposed, made 
way with a stranger that put up with him for the night. 
Hellion fled, and has not since been found, to my knowledge. 
Friend Taylor is a profound scholar, a faithful and true 
friend, and has a kind family, to whom I am much indebt- 
ed. Squire Connelly has killed many wild cats. Bears, 
wolves, and panthers were thick and troublesome. Reader, 
I have given you " a lady bear story," and now for " a 
lady panther story.'' The Squire gives the following, which 
he had from the lady herself — a lady that I once knew, and 
just the woman to do it, if any woman could or would. 
And this is the story : Her husband being from home, her 
dogs treed something in the night, close by the forest cabin. 
And it being a convenient tree to climb, and she an ex- 
pert climber, up she goes, to see what was on hand, and 
what should it be but a pretty well grown young panther. 
Mister panther, not liking her near approach, presented his 
*' farewell department," Math a view of mounting up a little 
higher, out of her way and out of her reach, when she 
suddenly seized him with one hand, just above his ham- 
string, and with an iron grip held on, and letting all her 
weight upon him, commenced her descent. Mister panther, 
cat fashion, sticking close to the tree " for dear life." But 
down, and down went both lady and panther, when step- 
ping out upon the lower limb, with a sudden square off 
jirk, mister panther lost his hold, fell among the dogs, and 
was '* a used up man," before he had time to say — "0! 



HISTORICAL. 463 

do n't." I ask, is that not too good to be lost ? I tell 
you, some of our forest ladies were general-ines, who are 
hard to beat for daruig adv^enture and enterprise. That 
lady was Mrs. Peter Boltz, whom I well knew. What do 
you say to that, girls? Think you could "come it?" 
Well there 's no necessity for encountering bears and pan- 
thers 710W. But there are other duties and dangers for 
you to meet, in the " active and busy scenes of a more 
refined life." And happy is he, or she, who shall well per- 
form their part upon the great theater of "life's drama," 
in the day and age in which they may chance to live. 

*' Then up and at it, one and all, 

Nor lose one single minute, 
You all should make this world the better, 

For having just been in it." 

MULE TOWN 

Is eleven miles from Lawrenceburg, on the Indianapolis 
State road, and a little over one mile south of my early 
" forest home," and just in sight of my present cottage 
residence. It was thus named under the following circum- 
stances. A letter received from California, was post-marked 
*' Mule Town," and our little village having long been 
annoyed by a span of very mischievous and breech mules, 
in a playful moment, the village was called " Mule Town." 
And it passed all around as a laughable hit, all in sport 
at first, but it settled down by common consent into an 
established christening; and thus it has, and thus it will 
remain. Well, Mule Town is not to be " grinned at " after 
all. Let me see — there are two large stores, two shoemak- 
ing establishments, a large coopering, a wagon, and buggy, 
and a good blacksmith, and a tailor shop, a very large and 
fine steam-flouring and sawmill, a postoffice, a fine church, 
and, decidedly, one of the very best academies in the State. 
It is justly considered a model building — with model 



464 cotton's keepsake. 

teachers,*'^ and has, in constant attendance, more than one 
hundred pupils, and some of Avhom are "model pupils," 
sure. Two boarding-houses, and other buildings to suit. 
Well, that ^s some. And just in sight, is the fine mansion 
house of good old Father Noyes, who settled here in 1817, 
for the purpose of benefiting his young, and rising family. 
But how uncertain and transitory are all worldly calcula- 
tions and aspirations. The old gentleman himself, Benja- 
min, Israel, Sarah, (Mrs. Benj, Sylvester,) Talmai, Eliza, 
(Mrs. Peter C. Wilcox,) Hugh, Daniel and Charles, his sons 
and daughters, all " slumber in the dust,^' and some of them 
far asunder. A little sweet infant babe he buried in Maine. 
Mrs. Cotton, Mrs. James P. Milliken, and Mr. Amos Noyes, 
Esq., the merchant and miller, a worthy, active, business 
man, is now all that survive of twelve children. The ven- 
erable good old Lady Noyes still survives, at 85 years, and 
lives with me and mine, feeble in body, but strong in mind, 
and longing to " depart, and be with Christ, which is far 
better. 

The other day, in a pensive mood, she threw ofi* quite a 
lengthy and pretty poem, which commenced thus: 

" I 'm nearly deaf, and almost blind, 
*— And to my chair I am confined; 

And here I sit, day after day, 
And wear the tiresome hours away. 
But hush, my muse, I '11 not complain — 
I never can be young again. 
In yonder world youth, health, and bliss 
I shall enjoy — but not in this." 

Now aint that beautiful for an old lady of eighty-five? 
Surel}'' the Psalmist was right when he said — " If by reason 
of strength it be four score years, it is labor and sorrow," 
etc. Yet, like the sainted Job, she says submissively — "All 
the days of my appointed time will I wait till my change 

=:= Professor 0. H. Smith, and others. 



HISTORICAL. 465 

come." Mother Noyes is an exception .among women, and 
almost alone remains of all her early neighbors in the wil- 
derness. Old Mother Miller, old Father Barton, and Me- 
lancthon Wicks, early and good citizens, died with fearful 
cancers. Old Father and Mother McMullen, old Sister 
Pardun, Father and Mother Euble, of precious memory, 
Father and Mother Freeland, Father and Mother Rich, 
Father and Mother Mead, and Father and Mother Milli- 
ken, Mrs. Piatt, and Mrs. Ketcham, Mrs. Horham, old 
Father Manliff, old Father Ketcham, and Mr. and Mrs. 
Micajah Dunn, parents of Gersham Dunn, Esq., and brother 
of the Hon. Judge Isaac Dunn, early and good citizens, 
have passed from earth away, and most of them rejoicing 
in hope. 

Wm. Barton fell down dead, with a disease of the heart. 
Sanford Sanders cut his toe a little, took cold in it, suffered 
a world of woe, and died at last, poor fellow! He pre- 
ferred that to amputation. W. W. Jordan, one of our very 
safest merchants, and an excellent man, a kind husband and 
a fond father, put on a pair of new boots to go to Cincinnati, 
on mercantile business ; they simply blistered his feet, in- 
flammation set in, and no medical skill could save him. 
He died beloved, bemoaned, and missed. How trivial an 
affair may wind up our career, after braving the dangers 
and ills of life ! What a lesson, reader ! Take heed to it, 
and "be ye also ready." 

Peter C. Wilcox was once thrown from his wagon, a 
wheel of which ran plumb over his face, smashing his nose 
and tearing his upper lip almost entirely off. A bunch 
of hoop-poles, coming between his head and the wheel, is 
all that saved him from a sudden and fearful death. As 
it was, it is still a most marvelous escape. He recovered 
from his wound, a little the worse in his appearance ; but, 
as I said of Squire Anderson, who is a brother-in-law, he 
still has a very respectable "handle to his face," and as 
nice a little lady as ever was wrapped up in "so much 
calico," and children that I dearly and fondly love. And 



466 cotton's keepsake.' 

my dear liitle Lizzie, sweet girl, now Mrs. Piatt, is " one 
among a thousand" of my cherished pupils. Alfred, son 
of David and Charity Piatt, my early and my kindest 
" forest friends," was suddenly killed by the falling of a 
tree, many years ago. 

My early and good friends, Silas and Patty Wicks, have 
been sorely afflicted and bereaved. Their dearly-loved 
daughter, Ann — Mrs. Joseph Suiter — was happily married, 
then suddenly died. Charles Noyes, who was drowned in 
the Whitewater (see ballad), was a son-in-law — husband to 
Lorinda, now the amiable and accomplished Mrs. George 
Clark, and their only daughter. They lost three dear, 
sweet children, in about one week, with the scarlet fever. 
Another dearly beloved daughter fell from a cherry tree, 
and was a corpse in a few hours. Their son, Stephen, had 
graduated, at Philadelphia, with brilliant honors, had en- 
tered the practice of law, under circumstances the most 
flattering, and was a corpse in a single week. He was de- 
cidedly the most talented, most eloquent, and best-informed 
young man in this community. "And devout men carried 
Stephen to his burial, and made great lamentation over 
him." — See Acts, viii: 2. How applicable! Taken as a 
"whole, this was a very intelligent and interesting family of 
children. Piatt bids fair to make his mark in the world. 
If this is a little extra notice, it is well deserved. 

My ever-cherished friend, John Bennet, as before noticed, 
removed to Henry county, came back on business, and 
suddenly died. Mary Noyes, sweet woman, a sister-in-law, 
widow of Benjamin, married Amasa Sawyer, a most happy 
union, and died soon and suddenly. Miss Betsey Greeu- 
ham died of a fearful scald — a painful case. Samuel 
McMuUen lost two dear, sweet little girls within fifteen 
minutes of each other, and another in the same week. O, 
what a sad breach ! Wm. Tebbetts, Esq., buried his wife 
and eldest daughter, Mrs. Martin, at one time. Mrs. Wm. 
Dawson died, at her breakfast-table, with a sudden rupture 
and hemorrhage "of the lungs. Her daughter, Mrs. Bidin- 



HISTORICAL. 467 

ger, in laying her pipe upon the -window, a coal of fire 
chanced to drop in an uncorked jug containing two pounds 
of powder, when a fearful explosion took place, which en- 
veloped her in flames, burned, and wounded her in a fear- 
ful and frightful manner, but still she lives with scarce a 
perceptible scar. A little son of Hon. J. P. and Priscilla 
Millburn was scalded to death — poor boy! Jonas Martin 
was kicked by a horse, which ruptured his bowels. He 
survived a short period in great pain, and then died. 
Charles Noyes and Ephraim Crouch were drowned in the 
Whitewater. David Piatt, son of old Mr. Piatt, and brother 
to Smith and others, died at Elizabethtown, with the milk 
sickness, as did Mr. Patterson, father of Judge Patterson, 
of Ohio county. Daniel Northrop and Dr. Lee had their 
houses all consumed by fire. 

And here, a shivareeing party having been desired and 
ordered to depart, in vain, the groom, telling them what 
they might depend upon, discharged his musket, loaded 
with white beans, many of which entered so deeply into 
the flesh of a young man, that it required surgical imple- 
ments and skill to extract them. Rather a hard way to 
plant or gather beans. 0, the folly, the annoyance and the 
danger of a shivaree ! which consists in getting all the 
young men and boys together, at the time of a wedding or 
infair, each with his bugle, trumpet, cow-bell, tin pan, or 
anything else that will make a noise ; and if you want to 
hear anything frightfully or ridiculously laughable, just 
listen to the discordant, grating sounds of a shivareeing 
party. 

Old Mother Noyes, Mother Manlifi", Mother Barton, 
Mother Ketcham, and Sister Wicks, as she is universally 
called, and a pious, good sister at that, good old Father 
Piatt, and Father Horhara, Wm. Tibbets, Esq., Silas Wicks 
and lady are all that now survive, of the early forest set- 
tlers, here. My exceedingly kind and good friends, Justus 
H. West, Moses Cook, David McCoy, Joseph Roberts, Witt 
Fisher, Robert and James Kennedy, Hon. James P. Milli- 



468 cotton's keepsake. 

ken, so long, so favorably and extensively known, Horace 
and Jane Brimhall, Mrs. Nancy Noyes, Friend and Sarah 
Northrop, Addison and Emeline Chandler, and others, 
all dearly loved and fondly cherished ladies and families, 
have removed from among us, much to our personal regrets. 
The best wishes of their ^numerous friends abide them still. 
Those noted Christian Pilgrims, old Brother Gearhart, and 
old Brother Ellingwood, who are " the salt of the earth,'' 
on their way to " Canaan/' and daily ripening for bliss im- 
mortal in the skies. 

Joseph Whitesell's little son fell through the bridge and 
killed himself, poor little fellow — a mighty smart and 
sprightly lad. George Claspell fell from a tree some forty 
feet, was badly injured, but recovered. Lewis Whitesell 
lost a hand entirely, by the bursting of his gun. George 
H., son of Gersham Dunn, Esq., once received the whole 
bitt of an axe into his head, just back of his ear — a gash so 
frightful that you could put your whole finger into it — the 
brains actually floAving out freely, and yet he recovered, 
without any seeming damage, to the surprise and joy of all. 
Dr. Harding, his attending physician, reported this case as 
one of singular occurrence and importance to the medical 
board. It was a w^onderful case, truly. 

And now, having said much about everybody and every- 
thing in this community, I will say something more about 
my own self and family. Here was my early forest home. 
(See Ode, and a night with a panther, for particulars.) 
There were no springs of water upon the ridge, or in this 
community, when I first settled here, which accounts for so 
many of the early locations upon the broken creek lands. 
I have brought many a bucketful of water from a spring 
near by Bennet's old mill, now Harmon's switch, on the 
railroad, a distance of at least two miles. What do you 
think of that ? Why did n't you dig a w^ell ? Sure enough, 
why did n't we ? Because one must creep before he can 
walk. I drew the water for use at the raising of my first 
cabin, all of five miles, from that famous spring in Con- 



HISTOKICAL. 469 

ger's or Morris's neighborhood, which was the nearest and 
the best phice that I could then obtain it. Now living 
springs abound all around me, and within a stone's cast 
of my door. As the country is cleared up and improved, 
"living waters" gush forth everywhere; the philosophy of 
which is simple, but I need not, can not, here explain. 

" Wild beasts of prey and game was plenty, though I 
took but little of it. My neighbors have taken as many 
as one dozen and a half of wild turkeys out of a turkey- 
pen, at one time ; three were as many as I ever got at 
one time. Now a turkey-pen was built up of poles or 
small logs, some ten or twelve feet long, something like a 
cob-house, three or four feet high, and then covered all 
over with heavy poles, with a natural or artificial ditch 
passing under one side and terminating about in the cen- 
ter of the pen ; then on the inside it was covered over 
next to the wall some three feet with bark or clapboards, 
leaving the opening right in the center. Corn or wheat 
being thrown into the trench or ditch, the turkeys, follow- 
ing it up, soon find themselves in the pen, and instead of 
backing out, or going back, to get out, they go round 
and round at the surfoce, which will nowhere admit of 
their escape ; and they are safe, though all could get out 
the way they came in, if they would only look down in- 
stead of up. My reader, you may learn a moral even from 
a turkey. A lofty head leads to ruin, while humility se- 
cures safety and repose. 

Quails were taken in the same way, upon a smaller 
scale, and sometimes with a kind of basket trap set upon 
" a figure four," as it is called. But the most successful 
and speedy manner was with a net, which being set, the 
quails, by a skillful hand, could be drove into it. While 
I resided at Elizabethtown, Dr. Brower, who is "master of 
all that he undertakes" — "a workman that need not be 
ashamed," took four dozen, minus or plus, one, (I have 
forgotten which,) at one single drive or haul There 's a 
" quail story " for you, worth telling. 



470 ^^ cotton's keepsake. 

A big bear once crossed my path, in the night time, at 
the mouth of Ketcham's run — frightened both me and my 
horse, too, made a short pause in the road, just ahead of 
me, then concluded to let me pass — gave the track, went 
on about his own business, and I felt much relieved, and 
much obliged to him. This, boys, is no stump, but a real 
*' genuine bear story." Benjamin Noyes once met a bear 
in the woods, and took after him with his ax — afoot 
and alone. Bravo! Just like Benjamin. Bruin took to a 
tree, and then Noyes and others took him from it at their 
leisure. The last one taken in the neighborhood crossed 
the State road several times close by Mule Town and Upper 
Manchester, and was taken upon the creek, hard by. Yes, 
right here, at Mule Town. Who could believe it? and who 
would ever know it but for me ? Just on the creek, east 
of my cabin home, Lewis Whitesell and others once killed 
a rattlesnake of huge dimensions, which had long been 
assailed by his dog ; and eleven young rattlesnakes, one 
foot and a half long, each, had sought refuge by running 
down the throat of their mother, as before noticed, on 
a similar occasion. There 's a hig snake story for you, and 
upon good and reliable authority, too, as I well know. My 
own panther and rattlesnake story will here be remembered, 
and called to mind again. 

Well, in early times, Mrs. Cotton killed two very large 
copperhead-snakes right in our humble cabin home ; she 
found them coiled up in one corner, under the table, and 
soon let them know that she was "mistress of the house,'* 
and that intruders must take the consequence, and she made 
them "bite the dust." At another time, as she stepped out 
in the evening, something seemed to catch hold and jerk 
her dress. She called me to bring a light, when lo ! right 
at her feet lay the largest kind of a copperhead-snake, which 
had struck at her just as she stepped off the door-step. His 
fearful fangs, of course, pierced the skirt of her dress, which 
by her motion jerked him from his coil, and gave notice that 
" all was not right." Was that not rather a narrow escape? 



'^HISTORICAL. 471 

Mr. Snakee, however, paid the forfeit of his life for thus 
presuming, and good enough for him. I once killed a black- 
snake so large, that he had a big gray squirrel, nearly all 
swallowed, and there he lay, " taking it fair and easy ;" and 
once on a time I heard a little singular sound, and turning 
around, I saw a large frog leaping, as " for dear life," down 
the hillside, and singing it out strangely at every bound, 
and just behind him came rushing along, "in hot haste," 
the largest kind of a black-snake. Mister frog reached the 
creek, plunged into shalloAV water, and lay as still as death, 
and seemingly " as flat as a pancake." His snakeship 
rushed across the creek close by him, lost his trail, "tacked 
ship," and came back, and took his position right on the 
bank, just opposite to him, when I interfered, which snaJcee 
seemed to think was not fair play, and he forthwith put in 
"leg bail ;" and then I too went on about my own business. 
At another time, a setting hen, out under an old log, just at 
the evening twilight, raised a flutter and a fuss. Eushing 
to her rescue, I found her completely enveloped in the coil 
of a large black-snake, at least six feet long, wrapped or 
entwined all round her body and her wings, and twice or 
thrice around her neck , and thus he choked her to death 
before I could render her any relief; and this being his 
manner of taking large game, is the reason why I supposed 
he would have used friend Alden in the same manner, as 
before stated. I tell you, reader, it was "rather snaky" 
about those early forest times, and no mistake, surely. 

Well, now for something to accommodate myself and the 
"young folks" of my own particular neighborhood exclu- 
sively. I have already incidentally made mention of my 
interesting little pupil and niece, Miss Elizabeth N. Wilcox ; 
and surely I can not well say too much in praise of one so 
kind, so studious, and so interesting ; and her little sis Al- 
dora must not be forgotten or overlooked — a sweet little 
motherless dear. Then here come Misses Lucinda C, 
Dorothy C, Sarah Jane, Amanda, Alvira, Augusta, Helen, 
Mary Frances, Xarissa, Gertrude and Caroline Noyes ; and 



472 cotton's keepsake. 

here, too, Miss Elizabeth Phebe, only child of Charles and 
Mary Noyes, deceased, a young lady of excellent mind, 
which she has well improved; amiable and obliging in her 
disposition, graceful and pleasing in her manners, she has 
secured the love and good will of all who know her. I 
extend to her this special notice, because she is " a lone 
orphan," and richly deserves this meed of honest praise. 
Misses Martha, Mary, Priscilla and Indiana Milliken were 
all kind, dear pupils and nieces of mine. Misses Abba, 
Jennie and Mary Jumper, Mary, Eliza, Phebe and Emily 
Milliken, Misses Mary, Frances and sis West, Miss Isabel 
Chandler, Miss Mary Jane Morse, Miss Arabella Freeland, 
Miss Aurilla Crocker, Misses Keturah, Mary Ann and Cassie 
Bodine, Miss Jennie Eldi-idge, Miss Mary Sisson, Misses 
Unadilla and sis Crider, Misses Harriet, Geneva and Alice 
Jordan, Misses Elizabeth and Sarah M. Jackson, Miss 
Harriet Conger, Misses Betsey, Clema, Mary and sis Cook, 
Misses Ella, Harriet Ann, Isabel, Amanda, Melissa and 
Nancy McMullen, all the Misses Livingston and Kennedy, 
a part of whose names are forgotten, and so I name none 
of them. Misses Alzora and Grace Powell, Misses Mary, 
Sarah, Betsey, Cynthia and Lydia McCoy, Misses Catharine 
and Tamaris Fisher, Miss Lydia Roberts, Miss Harriet Lay- 
born, Misses Sarah Jane and Olive Barton, Misses Mary 
Jane and Melissa Thompson, Miss Geneva Tibbetts, Miss 
Mary Ellen Sayres, Miss Fanny Cummings, Misses Rebecca 
dnd Pruda Fitzgerald, Misses Abigail, Nancy, Lucy and 
Sarah Rice, Misses Margaret and Martha McCracken, Miss 

Morearta, Miss Whitesell, Misses Keturah and 

Louisiana Wicks, Misses Hannah, Sarah Jane, Elizabeth 
and Priscilla Dunn, Miss Sarah Kelley, Misses Sarah Jane 
and Pruda Piatt, Misses Mary, Catharine, Eliza and Fanny 
Ketcham ; all of whom I embalm in the pages of my 
little book, as dear kind pupils. One or two I have 
recorded in their family connection, to keep the associa- 
tion. A few also are now married, and a few are dead ; 
but I treasure up their names here as a memento of 



HISTORICAL. 473 

them. Miss Margaret McCoy, though never a pupil, is 
a loved and cherished friend, and I associate her name 
with her youthful associates, to be preserved together; 
and it affords me pleasure thus to give evidence of cher- 
ished remembrances ; and I will here close the list by re- 
cording the names of all my dear grandchildren, the most 
of whom have been dear kind pupils, too ; and, of course, 
their names must appear in grandpa's book. Well here 
they are: — Lewis and Dorothy, children of my own loved 
Elizabeth and Richard Piatt; Orval W., Estelle C. and 
Dorothy Victory, children of my only surviving son, Wm. 
and Priscilla Cotton ; Sarah Louisa and Alfred Charles, 
children of my lamented son, Alfred B. and Jane Cotton, 
and Phebe Elizabeth by his first wife Phebe, who died 
when sis was onl^^ a few days old. She has grown up 
with us, and. appears to be quite our own. The Lord 
bless them all, is grandpa's prayer, and at last, when 
life's duties, dangers and conflicts are over, may we 
form an unbroken circle — " a fond family in heaven." 

This being my own neighborhood, is my apology 
for devoting so much space for the recording of names. 
But as I do it at my own expense none surely need 
complain, either here or elsewhere, now or hereafter; 
see reasons more fully expressed at Manchester, and 
then say whether I deserve censure or praise for these 
things. 

And now for a bear story, tJiai is a hear story, to conclude 
Mule Town history. 

An early forest neighbor of mine, by the name of Bills, 
known as "Dumb Bills," and "as deaf as a haddock" at 
that, once caught two little " cub bears," not far from my 
forest home, took them up carefully, went down to the 
creek close by — selected a little clear piece of bottom land 
for his theater of action, looked well to his trusty rifle — 
and then by pinching, made the little fellows sing it out 
lustily, to call up old mother bear, and with his keen 
"hawk's eye," kept a good look out in every direction. 
40 ♦ 



474 cotton's keepsake. 

And by-and-by old bear hove in sight, at quite a distance 
upon the brow of the hill. Now the little ones sung it out 
lustily again, and mistress bear doubles her speed, and now 
another sharp outcry, and mistress bear " puts in her best 
licks," comes waddling along at the top of her speed, hair 
erect, tongue out, and growling, vengeance upon the captor 
and the teaser of her young. Yes, here she comes, '* might 
and main," " full tilt," and when within a few yards of 
the object of her care and her vengeance, " ker-hang " goes 
the rifle, and down drops mistress bear, suddenly in her 
tracks, and so great was the momentum of her speed, that 
she actually turned a perfect " summerset," and fell quiv- 
ering in death, just at the captor's feet. Bills knew the 
tender spot — knew that he could hit it in a moment, at the 
right time, reserved his fire, and then with a quick motion, 
a steady nerve, and a deadly aim, he was " lord of the 
turf," and " victor of the field." 0, what daring intrepidity ! 
what self possession, for " a deaf and dumb man V Such 
were some of my early neighbors — the "forest pioneers." 
Now, boys, aint that single story about worth one dollar, 
and altogether too good, too thrillingly interesting to be 
lost ? And how many such, my little book will rescue from 
oblivion, to amuse and interest little boys and girls, who 
shall live right here in after years. And personally I know 
that all these things are substantially correct and true. 
So much then, for Mule Town, " nuj early forest home." 

MANCHESTER, 

The first cabin was raised here in 1815, by Eobert 
McCracken, now residing in the eastern end of the county. 
He informed me, the other day, that he cut his own road 
clear from Cambridge — that his nearest neighbor was four 
or five miles distant, and he that much farther west than 
any other white man, in the depths of an unbroken and 
interminable wilderness. His Indian and wild beast stories 
are some, and tally with similar reports everywhere. Two 
'years after he settled in the forest, quite " a Yankee colony " 



HISTORICAL. 475 

arrived, and he sold out to the Rev. Daniel. His brother, 
Col. Mark McCracken, retained his portion to the day of 
his death, and erected that large and spacious mansion- 
house, now occupied by Wm. H. Baker, who, from a poor 
boy, has worked his way into that beautiful and valuable 
possession. 

Col. Mark McCracken, at an early day, flung out his 
temperance banner to the breeze, was a man extensively and 
favorably known, and may well be said to be one of the 
leading men in the community. He died in the midst of 
life, loved, bemoaned, and missed. His sainted mother died 
a short time before, at the advanced age of 91 years. The 
venerable old Mr. Plummer, the honored father of the Rev. 
Daniel and Capt. Luther Plummer, had a leg twice ampu- 
tated, it being all fearfully fractured by a falling tree in 
the East — -survived many years, and died at a ripe, good 
old age. Father and mother Freeman, parents of Mrs. 
Daniel Plummer, fell asleep at about 86 years of age, and 
all died in the blissful hope of "abetter inheritance.'' 
Edward Freeman, my loved and familiar Edward, buried 
his little granddaughter, and his own sweet daughter, 
Louisa, Mrs. Turhorn in one day, and died himself the 
next, I believe. Aftd thus was his most excellent lady, 
my highly esteemed friend, suddenly and sorely bereaved. 
Henry Heutis, brother to 0. H. Heustis, Esq., and son-in- 
law of the Rev. Daniel Plummer, was thrown from his 
wagon, fell upon a log, which produced a rupture in his 
bowels, suffered a world of woe, and then died. He was 
a man of genius and of eloquence, dearly loved, and greatly 
missed. His faithful Almira soon after found repose beside 
him in "the house of death." And Mrs. Harding sung 
a sweet and pensive lay at the death of her fond sister, 
as she did upon another similar occasion — the death of 
her dear sister Jane, of whom mention has already been 
made. Old mother Heustis is very smart and active at the 
age of 86 years, and a wonderful fine old lady. 

My early forest friends, Simon Alexander and lady, died'' 



476 cotton's keepsake. 

suddenly, within two weeks of each other. A painful 
and sore affliction to all their children and their friends. 
James Matthews, a good, and well deserving son-in- 
law, also died suddenly, as did John Milliken years be- 
fore, loved and lamented, and cherished still. A son of 
Daniel Kersey's was killed in the bark-mill. A son of 
Moses Roberts was drowned in the tan vat. My worthy 
friend, James M. Clark, had his thigh broken by a fall, 
and his daughter, Miss Ann, a dear pupil of mine, suf- 
fered the amputation of a fearful tumor from her side 
the other day, which she endured, and bore " like a gen- 
eral." Old Mother Piles was found dead at her door in a 
praying posture years ago. My venerable friend, Job Syl- 
vester, Father of Capt. Benjamin Sylvester, now of St. Paul, 
Minnesota, is over 90 years of age, the oldest man in this 
community, and a precious good old man at that. He 
lives with his daughter, Mrs. Capt. Luther Plummer, where 
he is kindly nursed and cared for. His precious good lady 
passed to " that better land " several years ago, and soon, 
no doubt, they '11 meet above, to part no more for ever. 

Father and Mother Runnels, Judde Clark, and Joseph 
Plummer, before noticed, are no more. Mrs. Plummer, his 
widow, precious woman, has been blind for years, but " the 
eye of her faith" is brilliant and sound. She and good 
old mother Clark are tenderly nursed and cared for by 
their dear and dutiful children. Richard Hansel, John B. 
Clark, Stephen M. Clark, David Runnels, and Edmund 
Chisman, and their good ladies and families, have removed, 
blessed and remembered by all their friends. Rev. Benja- 
min Plummer, a young but accomplished minister of the 
Gospel, seems to be filling the place of his venerable uncle 
Daniel. May the mantle of Elisha fall upon him, and the 
Lord bless him in his " work of faith and labor of love." 
Good old Rev. Father Eldridge has served his day and gen- 
ration well and faithfully, and soon will enter into rest. 

Miss Mary E. Clark, now the estimable and accomplished 
Mrs. Dr. Eldridge, years ago, on behalf of the ladies of Man- 



HISTORICAL. 477 

Chester, made the Bible-presentation Address to the Sons 
of Temperance. To say that it was beautifully appropri- 
ate is to say but little. It was surpassingly so: and mine 
was the honor to respond. To be eclipsed by so bright an 
orb, or rather to be lost in its greater brilliancy, like the 
morning star, was rather a pleasure than a pain ; and yet 
my friends say that I fairly beat myself. The greater 
compliment, however, is found in this : both of our addresses 
were subsequently used, east of the mountains, on a simi- 
lar occasion, word for word and line for line, and so pub- 
lished in the papers, which I read for myself If a little 
disreputable to the users, who thus made themselves ob- 
noxious to the charge of plagiarism, it certainly was very 
complimentary to Miss Clark and myself. Miss Sarah 
Plummer and Miss Mary Flint were Miss Clark's fair at- 
tendants, and must be registered and perpetuated in this 
connection, as matter of course. That was a proud day for 
Manchester and the temperance cause ; and if the Division 
has gone down, it w^rought a great and good work in its 
day. It, however, never should have gone down — there 
was no earthly cause for it ; but I can not dwell, although I 
could write a full volume, and weep over the necessity. 
My association with Miss Clark, now the modest, amiable, 
and intelligent Mrs. Dr. Eldridge, makes her name and her 
memory dear to my heart. The doctor and his brother 
Albert, now in Illinois, and Dr. Sayres, have claims upon 
my gratitude for kind and generous personal and profes- 
sional services. 

Dr. Terrel has recently located in our midst, and comes 
with the fame of an excellent man and a good physician, 
without which he could stand no possible chance with our 
other excellent physicians. My venerable and kind friends. 
Brother Samuel Roberts and lady. Brother Whitcomb and 
lady. Brothers Amos and Jonathan Ross and ladies. Bro- 
ther Elias Schooley and lady. Captain Luther Plummer 
and lady, James Walso and lady, and Salmon T. Warren, 
and good old Aunt Esther Freeman, are about all of the 



478 cotton's keepsake. 

old settlers left. And none, surely, will take it amiss, 
when I say, what everybody else says, that Captain Plum- 
mer, for moral excellence and worth, has few equals, and 
no superiors anyiohere. Mr. Walso also deserves a little 
special notice. He commenced the world a poor orphan 
boy, unpromising, penniless, and friendless, except the en- 
couragement and good counsel of the Rev. Daniel Plum 
mer, with whom he lived for several years. Now he owns 
and occupies the beautiful farm and splendid mansion 
house formerly owned by Captain Benjamin Sylvester. 
He also owns another valuable farm. We associate his 
name and example with those of friend Randall and Ba- 
ker, before noticed ; to which we might add those of Oliver 
H. and Elias Heustis, George M. Lozier, Jeremiah Hower- 
ton, Ralph Collier, John B, and James M. Clark, Samuel 
S. Conger, James Garrigus, Smith Piatt, Peter C. Wilcox, 
Alden H. Jumper, and the Hon. James P. Milliken, and 
others right in our midst, here, who started out in the 
world empty-handed, but whose wealth now is computed 
by thousands, and most of them all, too, have held high 
official stations among men. Thus securing to themselves 
wealth, honor, and fame by their own personal efforts of in- 
dustry, economy, and moral worth. What a lesson to pon- 
der upon and to apply ! 

My reading and observation go to show, that poor boys 
often die rich men, and rich boys often die poor men, and 
the reason is as obvious as the nose on a man's face. 
How much better, then, it would be for men of wealth to 
dispose of their means themselves, as they go along through 
life, to charitable and benevolent purposes, than to hoard 
it up for their children to quarrel about, perchance, after 
they are dead and gone; and, instead of thanking you for 
what you have left, a thousand chances to one, they will 
complain because you did not leave them more. Such 
things but too often occur. Had a fortune been left to 
me, I, perchance, should have done little good in the world, 
either to myself or to anybody else; and surely never 



HISTORICAL. 479 

should have come out author — never should have published 
this little book, which, I trust, will accomplish some little 
good at least, and afford pleasing and profitable entertain- 
ment to its readers, when " life's duties are o'er" with me. 
Without a single dime, yes, a si7igle dime, I commenced 
the world, and have " worked my way ; and the reflection 
is gratifying to my heart. Perhaps the celebrated Dr. Ar- 
nold never uttered a more truthful and wise sentiment 
than when he said — " Many an unwise parent labors hard, 
and lives sparingly all his life, for the purpose of leaving 
enough to give his children *a start in the world,^ as it is 
called." 

Setting a young man afloat with money left him by his 
parents or relatives, is like tying bladders under the arms 
of one who can not swim, and then thrust him out from 
the shore — ten chances to one, he will lose the bladders 
and go to the bottom and perish. Teach him to swim, and 
he will never need the bladders. Give your child a good 
example, and a sound physical training in some manual 
calling, and you have done enough for him upon that score. 
Then see to it, that his morals are pure, his mind culti- 
vated, and his whole nature made subservient to the laws 
which govern men, and you have given him that which 
will be of more real value to him than the wealth of the 
Indies. 

To be thrown upon one's own resources, is, in truth, to 
be cast into the very lap of good fortune, for our faculties 
then undergo a development, and display an energy that 
works miracles and comprehends wonders. 

Now, this saying that " I am able to raise my sons and 
my daughters without compelling them to labor," is only 
another method of saying, I am able to raise them drones, 
loafers, criminals, and convicts. I repeat, how many hearts 
could be made glad, homes of poverty and afiiiction happy 
and cheerful, how much good to the church and to the 
world, if men of means would well apply and appropriate 
them to charitable and good purposes as they go along 



480 cotton's keepsake. 

through the •world. Such men would be rich indeed. 
" Rich in faith and good works/' which is the only true 
riches. My dear reader, if you have no respect for my 
opinion, my advice and my own history, surely you will 
not set at naught the council and the advice of the " world 
famed " Dr. Arnold, as quoted above. Read it over again 
and profit by it, will you — everybody ? 

Before I conclude, I must say here is the residence of 
Freeman Plummer, the patentee of the " Corn Planter,'^ 
before noticed ; and here, too, is the residence of Dr. 
Gardner, youngest son and child of the Rev. Daniel Plum- 
mer, and brother to Freeman. I have known the doctor 
all the days of his life, and a young man of a pureVy better 
moral character I never knew anywhere. He is certainly 
a young man of mind, well read in the science of medicine, 
and age and experience will do the balance for him, and 
secure both " wealth and fame." 

And here I record a few more precious names, to close 
up my school list: Miss Harriet True, Miss Susan Con 
dale, Misses Antoinette and Alzora Ross, Miss Ann Roberts 
Miss Lydia Plummer, Misses Aurilla and Augusta Sylves 
ter, Miss Ann, Maria, Jane, Ellen, Louisa, Sarah, Alice. 

and little sis Clark, Miss Sarah Schooley, Miss Bald 

ridge, Miss Crider, Miss Sarah Wilson, Miss Ellen 

Freeman, the little Misses True, Miss Celia Ann, (of 
precious memory,) Mary Jane, Sarah, Caroline, Mary Ann, 
Sarah Jane, and Harriet Hansell, Miss Adaline and Jane 
Ellingwoud, Miss Sarah Walters, Miss Isadore and little 
sis Plummer, Miss Perry, Miss Elizabeth and little sis 
Murdock, and all the Misses Stevensons, the most of whom 
are pupils, that I fondly cherish and embalm in the pages 
of my little book, with a right hearty good will. Some 
few names are recorded out of yure friendship, to keep up 
the ftimily and the neighborhood association, as said upon 
a former occasion. This to some may appear a small busi- 
ness for an author. But do n't you know that my pupils, 
seeing their own names in my book, will prize it the higher 



HISTORICAL. 481 

on that account — will think of me and the advice I have 
given them, as they may chance to read these pages over, 
lang after I shall have passed from earth away. My object, 
then, in recording the names of my pupils, is to shoAV that 
even in affliction and old age, they are not forgotten, and 
that I feel the same solicitude to " serve and please '' them 
that I did '' in years agone." That and that put together, 
is my apology, which, it is hoped, will be satisfactory, too, 
more especially as I do it at my own expense, purely, and 
none need read unless they choose to. These suggestions 
are intended to cover the whole ground, and I pass. 

I have purposely withheld a notice of the Rev. Daniel 
Plummer until the last, because I really think that both 
the church and the community here are more deeply in- 
debted to him than to any other man or minister in our 
midst. He led a colony of enterprizing men who settled 
here, and made Manchester mainly what it now is. As a 
minister, he has been at the beck and call of every body, 
by night and by day. And forty years of able, eloquent, 
and efficient ministerial services, as a gratuity, is no small 
item. Then Elder Plummer has paid a liberal quarterage 
both for himself and family, during all this time. His 
house, too, has been thronged as " a free Methodist tavern," 
as his good lady can well testify of a truth. Added to 
this, the beautiful brick church here is almost an entire 
gratuity at his hands. Who, then, has done as much for 
naught ? Taking sermons, orations, temperance lectures, 
and Sabbath school addresses all together, I suppose my 
public addresses would rather outnumber his or any other 
man's hereabouts. But otherwise Elder Plummer stands 
head and shoulders above all around him. And taken all 
in all together, there is no one like him. Through his 
ministry I was awakened, though converted under the 
labors of another. By him I was baptized and received 
into the church. By his ministration I was married to my 
good lady, forty years ago. I have sat under his ministry 
all that time, both with pleasure and profit. And surely, 
41 



482 cotton's keepsake. 

but for my venerable good mother, I should have inscribed 
my little book to him. And this acknowledgement of it 
here amounts to about the same thing. Elder Plummer 
has been a man of great physical and mental energies — is 
now somewhat advanced in years, and frail and feeble — a 
mere shadow of his former self. But could a painter, with 
a skillful hand, sketch his life, in his most vigorous, palmi- 
est days, it would be a picture " worth dimes," and '* worth 
beholding.'' 

He has "served his day and generation" well and 
faithfully, and, in all human probability, will soon "hear 
from on high," " It is enough — come up hither." " Enter 
thou into the joy of thy Lord." This is no vain, fulsome 
compliment, but the grateful tribute of an old friend — of 
an honest heart. 

And this concludes my journal and history, except to 
say, that the largest rattle-snake I ever heard any thing 
about, was killed forty years ago, upon the creek not far 
from the old county poor-house, hailing from a den, a rocky 
cavern, in the steep hillside. It was about seven feet long, 
and at least one foot and a half round, and sported thirty- 
two monstrous rattles. I have it upon the honor of my 
friend, Benjamin Tibbetts, who says he helped kill and 
measure it ; and if any body doubts his veracity, they can 
satisfy themselves by calling upon Oliver H. Heustis, Esq., 
or upon the Miller Johnsons. Now is that not a "mighty 
big snake story" to quit on? And that, too, right here 
in Manchester, where my little book is written, to be sent 
abroad with that story in it. What will the little boya 
think, who live here forty years hence, when they chance 
to read this story — being residents of the very community 
where it originated ? What will they ? I pause for a reply, 
and proceed. 

TWO WOLVES. 

It will be remembered that I have given one very in- 
human wolf story, with name and place. I have reserved 
two others, which I choose not to locate. 



HISTORICAL. 483 

A man whom I well knew, many years ago, caught a 
poor wolf in his trap, and calling to his aid two other 
persons, he proceeded to take singular vegeance upon her ; 
tied her mouth with a cord, ran a gambrel through her 
hamstrings, hung her up over a beam in his kitchen, and 
then actually skinned her alive, and turned her loose. 
She ran about forty rods, fell over, struggled long and 
fearfully, and at last died. I ate, or at least tried to eat, 
a most excellent dinner in that very same kitchen not 
long since ; but was sick at heart, and shuddered at the 
recital of the barbarous and cruel act. The good lady of 
the house said she wished that she had never known it ; 
that it troubled her every time she thought of it; and that 
she could scarcely keep it out of mind for a single day, 
and often lay awake, and thought about it, when she faiu 
would be asleep ; and that is no marvel — surely not 

The cruel actors have been dead for years, but are never 
thought of without a sigh or a shudder. It will stick to 
their memories like " the shirt of Nessus." 0, my young 
readers, do n't so afflict your surviving friends, nor curse 
your own memories, by such acts of cruelty and crime. 
don't — never! 

And now for another. A venerable old pioneer, among 
other things of early times, informed me, that he and 
some three or four young men once came across a wolf 
pen, with a wolf in it. It was suggested that now was 
the time to have some rare sport in taking sanguinary 
vengeance upon poor mister wolf. There was some misgiving 
and parleying, but the thing took, and at it they went, and 
skinned the poor wolf alive — growling and groaning at 
every breath; then the tile-leader cut his hamstrings; then 
thrust his knife into each eye; and then left him to 
struggle and die in that fearful plight. 

"My friend," said I, •' I am sorry that you told me 
that; the sooner that is forgotten the better." "Ah!" 
said the old man, " would that I could forget it. It has 
haunted me for more than fifty years, by night and by 



484 cotton's keepsake. 

day. I do n't know how it was that I consented to it. I 
was opposed to it, but the boys some how got me in, and 
I have deeply regretted of it all my days." Now had he 
real true moral courage — a fixed purpose to do right — had 
he obeyed that sacred injunction, " if sinners entice thee 
to sin, consent thou not " — he would have saved himself a 
a lifetime of regrets and unavailing woe. I reluctantly 
record these barbarities and cruelties, but I do it for the 
moral it imparts. As I said before, be careful to do noth- 
ing in youth that shall curse your memories — nothing that 
you fain would, but can not, forget. Remember this, will 
you? We take the Indian's buffalo, moose, elk, deer, and 
even his lands, and then talk about savage torture and 
cruelty. AYhen for the loss of a single lamb, now and 
then, to satisfy the cravings of animal life, according to 
nature, the loliite man outrivals his brother in torturing 
his poor captive. shame! My informant has sorely re- 
pented, and is now a pious, good old man. 

Now, I suppose that, in the nature and fitness of things, 
it is right to destroy all animals that disturb or annoy us ; 
but then it should be done with the least possible pain to 
the poor animal that has fallen a captive into our hands. 
Such barbarities and cruelties as I here record, upon the 
most reliable authority, are a hurning shame upon our 
race — an outrage upon common humanity, that sends a 
blush to the cheek, and a pang to the heart. 

THE FUGITIVES. 

Do n't be alarmed, reader, at the heading. I only pro- 
pose to " agitate " your risible faculties a little for your 
own gratification and amusement. If there be "a time to 
laugh;" I think that time is now. I have had my laugh, 
and now you may have yours, if you are in a laughing 
mood, but do n't hurt yourselves if you can help it. 

As an oflFset to these wolf stories, I will now give you 
two fugitive stories, which I gathered up from some of the 
parties interested therein, that have a more pleasing out- 



HISTORICAL. 485 

come. Pro or con, you must laugh, if there is laugh in 
you. I give them not to agitate the "political question/' 
but to enjoy the s])ice of them. 

In a pretty village in old Dearborn, just at early twilight, 
two colored men, with slouched hats and tattered garments, 
and both barefoot at that, were seen shying their way along, 
at the outskirts of the village. They evidently were run- 
aways. The hue and cry was raised, and all set off in hot 
pursuit, but lost sight of them in turning a corner ; but no 
matter ; they could soon overhaul them. But not so : they 
had strangely and suddenly concealed themselves. All the 
village was soon up and after them in hot haste; every 
nook, and corner, and stump, and haystack, and stable was 
thoroughly searched, to no purpose. "Jim, get my horse — 
quick," said one. "Well, which horse, Jack?" "The 
fastest horse, to be sure." "Shall I saddle him?" "No, 
you fool you ; the niggers will get clear out of reach of us. 
We must head them soon." And directly on he mounted, 
bareback, and plied whip right manfully, as did others. 
One rode to one crossing, and another to another, " If you 
see them, halloo 'shoot him!' but dont do it." 0, it was 
a wonderfully exciting time. " What could have become of 
them?" says one; "perhaps you were mistaken ; they might 
not have been negroes." "Yes, they were; I saw their 
legs clear up to the knees. I know they were runaway 
negroes." And all broke out again in hot pursuit, and 
kept it up till near midnight, when the knowing ones could 
hold in no longer, and three young men broke out in an 
uproarious laugh — "April Fool!" 

It was John and Jim here that you were after, and I 
was to start after them, and you all, like April fools, fol- 
lowed me, said one. And then such another ha, ha, and 
screaming, and biting of lips, and cursing, and impreca- 
tions, were seldom mixed up together. Some, like Gilpin 
of old, were so galled in the seat, that they could hardly 
stand or walk for a week. All this happened on the eve 
of the first day of April, 183- The boys that started it, 



486 cotton's keepsake. 

suddenly divested themselves of their wearing apparel, and 
joined in the pursuit. Now, aint that rich? I conceal the 
parties, lest it should offend. Boys, do n't betray your- 
selves, if you can help it. It is the richest " April-fooP' 
story I ever heard, and no mistake. 

And now for another: Two men were making shingles 
in the woods, when what should they espy creeping along 
through the bushes but a poor tattered runaway negro. 
Supposing that negro-catching would be much more profit- 
able and patriotic than making shingles, they "left all, and 
followed him ;" occasionally getting glimpses of him, and 
then he would come up missing. Baffled in their attempt 
to take him alone, they gave the alarm, as the prize was 
evidently too great to be lost, and a " half loaf being better 
than no bread." But while the pursuers were in hot haste 
after him, others took every favorable position to afford 
him aid ; went out with plates full of victuals, if possible, 
to feed the poor fugitive. At last he hove in sight, was 
kindly addressed, assured that they would befriend him, 
showed him the tempting refreshment, and timorously he 
approached, and the hearts of his friends leaped within 
them for joy and pity. But no, the poor negro paused, 
said something about betrayal, and off he dashed in mad 
dismay, in spite of all the kind assurances of his sympa- 
thizing friends — this state of things was often renewed, the 
chase continuing for hours. At last, the poor negro sur- 
rounded and exhausted, yielded up to his fate, and fell 
down, and soon was in the hands of his pursuers, who, 
with a kind of triumphant shout, let all the pursuers know, 
"We've got him! Ave 've got him!" while the lookers on 
sighed in sympathy and commiseration for the poor fel- 
low ! And then turning him over to see what he looked 
like, his captors were shocked to hear an uproarious laugh, 
with " yoii darnel fools," I knew you wanted to chase a 
negro, and none happening along, I thought I 'd let you 
chase me. And who should it be but a stout athletic young 
man, whom they had taunted with being " a friend of nig- 



HISTORICAL. 487 

gers." Here I drop the curtain, and don't laugh, if you 
can help it. 

A KISS. 

Don't hlush or be alarmed, reader, at the caption. Read 
what I have written, before you render judgment against 
me ; and then render a verdict " according to law and 
evidence,'' which is all I ask. 

At the conclusion of one of my addresses, a very fine- 
looking lady approached me at the altar, with an extended 
hand, and a good, sensible, warm pressure thereof, saying : 
*' I suppose you do not know me." When I was a little 
girl, you used to preach at my father's house, and I remem- 
ber to have sat in your lap many and many a time, though 
26 years have rolled away, since I last saw you. Do you 

recollect little E R ? Bless my life ! is this my little 

sweet ^e^ E ? And at the recognition and the remem- 
brance of past scenes, and buried friends, we both soon 
found ourselves bathed in tears of joy and sorrow. To be 
short, I called upon my fair friend, found her happily situa- 
ted — had one of the very kindest and best of husbands — 
surrounded with beautiful children, and all the comforts 
and conveniences of life — had a most precious and agree- 
able interview, and, as I arose to depart, she accompanied 
me to the door, with such endearing fondness, that I could 
hardly tear myself away from her ; she seemed so much 
more like a child than a friend. Well, I suppose I 

must go, said I, at last, and my dear E , when you 

were a little girl, I used to greet you often, and know of 
no good reason why I should not treat myself to that in- 
nocent luxury now. And, so saying, imprinted upon her 
pure lips, love's fondest, purest, sweetest, holiest seal of 
afiection and love, which she returned with such affection- 
ate fondness, that I seem to have enjoyed it all the time 
ever since. It must have been just such a sweet greeting 
as the immortal bard, Tennyson, once received, and of 
which he said: 



488 cotton's keepsake. 

" With one fond, sweet kiss she drew 
My whole soul through my lips; 
As sunlight drinks the dew." 

"Why should friends be denied this innocent luxury ? Why ? 
Nor am I singular in this. All our most celebrated poets 
have sung a lay, to the sweet and innocent bliss of a fond 
and pure greeting. See the following: 

"Ae fond kiss and then we sever, 
Ae farewell — alas! for ever." — Burns. 

" You kissed me — my heart and my will 

In delirous joy for the moment stood still 

Your lips clung to mine, till I prayed in ray bliss, 

They might never unclasp from that rapturous kiss." 

S. J. Hunt. 

" Still would I steep my lip in bliss, 
And dwell an age on every kiss." — Byron. 

A celebrated and beautiful writer says, that "kissing 
may well be coupled with poetry, indeed we are not sure 
that one word ought not to express both — for what is a 
kiss but a poem — a lyric of love, condensed into one bliss- 
full expression," and then adds: 

" If any one can, just please tell me this, 
"Why love greets its friends with a sweet modest kiss? 
Because love is so strong, and language so weak, 
We express by a kiss what the language can't speak." 

Now I will only add, that I do religlouslij believe, that 
■when real and intimate friends meet, and part under cir- 
cumstances that would justify shaking hands, and saying, 
"how do you do" — or "good-by," they should be permit- 
ted to express their pleasure or their regrets, by pure and 
fond greeting — not clandestinely, but openly, and above 
board. I confess, that I never thus met, and parted with 
a, fair friend of mine, when I would not have regarded 



HISTORICAL. 489 

such a privilege a luxury. But an intimation to that ef- 
fect, would generally be looked upon with suspicion, and, 
therefore, it must be suppressed, as "the times and seasons" 
now are. 

The circumstances which have led me into these remarks 
are my apology for introducing them here. Early usages 
and Scripture authority abundantly sustain me in all I 
ask, all that I have said, and all that I would advocate or 
do in the premises. More I might say, but enough for the 
present — perhaps too much. 

REFLECTIONS. 
Well, my kind friends, you have now read my book pretty 
nearly through, and, perchance, your name has not once 
been repeated ; but you are not to suppose that it is be- 
cause you are not loved, or because you are forgotten. I 
could not name everybody, and so I have made such selec- 
tions as I deemed most appropriate and expedient. Per- 
haps, at this very moment, you are in my mind's eye, 
"wherever you are, and fond remembrances endear you to 
my heart. I should have been glad to make special men- 
tion of you, as of all my other friends in Ohio, Switzer- 
land, Ripley, Decatur, Franklin, and Hamilton counties, 
which surround old Dearborn, as also of many cherished 
names in my native State — Maine. But that pleasure I 
must forego, and my unnamed friends must excuse me. 
It is already such a book of names as never before was 
published by anybody, anywhere. Again, judging from 
my book, you will conclude that I have been long and in- 
timately acquainted with everybody and everything in old 
Dearborn. Well, why not? I have resided here forty 
years, have preached and lectured all over it, long and 
often. I have many times been a candidate, and for more 
than twelve years a judge of the court, which brought me 
in contact with ever3"body ; and if I do n't know every- 
body in the county, and every nook and corner in it, who 
should ? And, as a consequence, who is better qualified to 



490 cotton's keepsake. 

write out its history? But, then, say you, Are there no 
sinners, no corrupt, wicked men in the range of your ac- 
quaintance? Yes; but then I do not find so many of that 
character as some people do. And who ever knew me to 
retail scandal, or to speak evil of my neighbors, except 
under great provocation. One of the earliest precepts ever 
taught me was this — "Deal gently with all, speak evil of 
none," for 

" How oft unknowingly the tongue 

Touches a chord so keenly aching, 
That just one word, or accent wrong, 

Pains the heart almost to breaking." 

Beside, I would not pain my friends, by speaking unkindly 
of theirs, in a " Keepsake" like this. 

I will, right here, treat you to a little composition of 
Miss Elizabeth Ann Hansell, one of my dearly-cherished 
pupils, because I can write nothing better, and because my 
fair pupil will thus aid me in writing out my little book, 
as others have done before her. And more than all that, 
the composition is too good to be lost, and I record it here 
for preservation. Ye pure in heart, read it, and then tell 
me if it is not beautiful, and beautifully appropriate here. 

"KIND WORDS. 

" The most costly gem, that ever decked the monarch's 
brow, is not more highly prized than is kindness by the 
afflicted. To such a few kind words are of infinite value ; 
and may we not ask — What are kind words ? To the weary 
and wounded heart they are a healing balm ; they give new 
vigor to the soul overwhelmed with grief and sorrow, and 
when hope's brightest prospects are withered, they are a 
fertile spot in life's desert. Kind words to the erring ! for 
they will exert a great influence, and make a deep impres- 
sion toward winning them back to the paths of virtue and 
truth. 

" Kind words to the orphan ! He is in a cold and unfeel- 
ing world, without a mother's watchful care or a father's 



HISTORICAL. 491 

loving counsel. He surely must feel lonely, iDut if wq can, 
by oui- kindness, in the least alleviate his sorrows, let us 
strew the path of life with fairest flowers. 

" Kind words to the aged ! They have endured enough 
of life's ills ; they will not linger long with us ; they will 
soon plunge into the cold stream of death ; but while it 
is in our power, let us endeavor to spread light and fra- 
grance around their paths. 

" Kind words around the fireside ! Oh ! must it be that 
the peace and joy of home's hallowed shrine must be 
broken up by harsh words and cold and bitter strifes? 
By loving words and gentle actions, let us ever keep sacred 
the ties that bind kindred hearts together. 

" Kind words to our teachers ! They have endured much 
on our account. Often, too often, Ave think and speak un- 
justly of them, when they have tried, in every possible 
way, to act in a manner that would secure our highest in- 
terest and welfare. Let not our voices, then, be raised 
against our teachers, but let us rather act better our part 
in the future, that they may not have so much anxious 
care in our behalf. 

" Kind words to our schoolmates ! They may be scorn- 
ful and treat us disrespectfully, but shall we be likely to 
gain respect if we treat them so ? Far from it ; but be 
kind, and they will soon become ashamed of their conduct. 
Kindness will accomplish more than all the harsh words 
ever uttered, 

" Kind words to all ! for they cost nothing but what they 
bountifully repay ; they shed beauty around ; they nourish 
the beautiful flowers of love and friendship, causing them 
to grow and expand their foliage, imparting their fragrance 
to all around, till transplanted to a heavenly clime, where 
they will bloom in all their vigor and unfading beauty for 
ever. " ' Lib' Hansell." 

Now, aint that beautiful? 

But our officers in high places do wrong! Well, what 
if they do ? They are our officers, and as such, should be 



492 cotton's keepsake. 

honored and respected. If they do wrong, expose the 
wrong, but assail not the motive, which alone is known to 
them and to God. Keep the offices of the county honored, 
and let the small still voice of "the ballot-box" remove or 
continue the officers, as duty and right may require. I am 
heartily sick — I am ashamed — I fear for my country, when 
I see, that not only officers, but all the offices of the county 
are sinking into such general disrepute ! My readers, my 
countrymen, "these thinsjs ought not so to be.'' I can 
speak out as sharply as any other man, when it is impera- 
tively demanded, as some, at least, can testify. 

Some that I could name, have dealt very unkindly and 
illiberally with me, in this little book enterprise. I once 
asked quite a wealthy neighbor, if he felt free to patronize 
my book undertaking; but "it was no go," although I had 
preached the funeral sermons for two of his brothers, and 
numerous other friends, at the expense of, at least, one day 
each. And, then, I was so feeble and emaciated, that I 
could scarcely stand up to ask him. Another, whom I had 
ministerially served in the same manner, and as abundantly 
able, when my prospectus was presented to him by a neigh- 
boring merchant, said: "If you don't want to drive your 
customers away, do n't show that again ;" nor could he be 
prevailed upon to "cast in his mite" to a public donation 
that was gotten up for me. 

Another, whom I once caused to be announced in the 
papers as a candidate, and paid a dollar for it myself— 
voted for him often and always — but my book had no 
attractions, my services no claims upon him, though often 
generally asked to subscribe, but no — he sold out, moved 
away with thousands, but he had not one dollar for my 
book. Now, five dollars each was the very least that each 
one of these should have forked over, and that riglit cheer- 
fully. Now, while it is their right to do as they choose, 
with their money, it is my right to place my own estimate 
upon the value of sucli friends. In my book, however, I 
have spoken as kindly of them and theirs, as though they 



HISTORICAL. 493 

had acted a more liberal and generous part bj me. As an 
offset to this, many have rallied to my support, that I did 
not anticipate. A single case, and I pass. Going from 
one appointment to another, I was accosted thus — ''Halloo ! 
Judge! — don't know where your friends live, I reckon — ■ 
come in, come in." And there was just enough of the Irish 
brogue in it to make it "rich as cream." "Well, I did 
not know that you lived here, and have but a slight ac- 
quaintance with you, anyhow," said I. " And sure that's 
true, but I have known you long and well. I could not 
get out at your meeting, last night. I hope you did w-ell, 
though. I 'm in for your book, and I 'm going to pay you 
for it, too." "I don't ask any pay now, I am only trying 
to see if I can get subscribers enough to justify me in the 
publication. Never mind the publication ; here's the money, 
book or no book. If you succeed, send me a book, if not, 
keep the money in welcome. Nor is this all. I intend 
to see my neighbors, and get them to take it, too ; every 
body should take one of your books." And then covering 
me all over with blessings, and wishing how well I might 
succeed, I was permitted to depart, and " went on my way 
rejoicing," thinking, perhaps, that " I was somebody after 
all." And if I could, I would record the name of WM. 
WITHERED in my book, in characters of living light, as 
large jxndi sls fair as the moon — that I would. 

PROGRESS. 

We have already stated that the first white settler in old 
Dearborn was about 1794; and fifty-six years brings it up 
to 1850, and 56 being a number of peculiar significance to 
the American people, and to the world, the 56 of ^76 being 
the heaviest 56 ever known to mankind, so heavy that all 
Europe could not lift it, we shall show the progress and 
improvement of the first fifty-six years. The census returns 
of 1850, which is now before me, foots up at 3549 dwell- 
ings, 4602 families, 20166 inhabitants, and 1520 improved 
farms, and 72 productive establishments. She has also 



494 cotton's keepsake. 

many miles of turnpikes, railroads, telegraphs, and canals. 
The Assessor's Report foots up the real estate at $3,689,380 

Personal, 1,906,850 

Corporation, 1,043,300 

Total, $6,639,230 

The real value of which, even in 1850, vrould have been 
at least 50 per cent, above these estimates ; so say good 
judges. Then it vs^ould all foot up thus — $9,958,845. 
There is in the county, 308 sections, or 190,969 acres, 
averaging a little over fifty-two dollars per acre — creeks 
and all other waters included. All the wealth in 1794, 
was just the naked territory, worth perhaps not more than 
25 cents per acre, and from twenty-five cents to fifty-two 
dollars is an advancement that perfectly bewilders the im- 
agination, and enough to astonish the universe, and that 
in the brief space of fifty-six years. And from one to 
20jl66 citizens in the same time, is positively incredulous — 
is overwhelming — yet so it is — a demonstrated fact, clearly 
shown by "figures which will not lie." What a fruitful 
theme for contemplation, for gratitude, and for praise. 
And what a high and brilliant destiny yet awaits old Dear- 
born, if she be true to herself, as her general policy of 
improvements, her schoolhouses, her colleges, and her 
churches, indicate that she will. Even so let it be. 

For the sake of convenience we will suppose that the real 
wealth of the county, personal, real and mixed, is just 
10,000,000 of dollars, which can not be far out of the way. 
Now ten millions is very easily read or pronounced. But 
when we come to think closely about it we are perfectly 
bewildered and lost in the vortex of numbers. How shall 
we justly appreciate or comprehend it. We will suppose it 
all to be in silver, and that each dollar weighs an ounce, 
which is exact enough for my present computation — then 
$10,000,000 will equal 625,000 lbs., or 312 J tuns. At \\ 
tuns per wagon, it would load 208 J ; and at four horces 
per wagon, it would require more than 832 horses to haul 



HISTORICAL. 495 

it. And allow four rods to each team, and we have a solid 
line of four horse teams, and four rods a part, that would 
be a little over two and a half miles long. Put it into 
sacks of $2,000, each 125 lbs., and it would require just 
5,000 men to pack it — place them in single file, two paces 
apart, and they would form a solid column nearly five miles 
and a half long. Count one dollar per second, without a 
single miss, and ten full hours per day, and it would take 
one man 278 days, nearly, to count them. Millions, when 
you come to handle, measure, or weigh them, are no play- 
things. And such is the overwhelming value of old Dear- 
born, in dollars and cents, the result of honest toil and 
enterprise, for a single half century, in whole numbers. 
Wonderful! — wonderful! So much, then, for the progress 
and improvement — for the real and substantial wealth and 
resources of old Dearborn. And where can a parallel be 
found ? Echo answers — where ? 

REVIEW. 

I have christened the "historical'^ part of my work a 
Panorama. Now, I will give the wheel a few tiums, and 
let the reader look on, or rather remember, and I will re- 
port what I see for them. Now I see a little shanty in 
the unbroken forest, which is occupied by the first white 
family upon these shores — savage beasts, and savage men, 
and all kinds of wild game, in profuse abundance, all 
around them, and they solitary and alone in the dense, 
unbroken forest. Now I see the sturdy axman, making 
his first little clearing, 

" Where, stroke on stroke, 
The walnut and the sturdy oak, 
Fall headlong." 

Now scores of trees have fallen, and crushed and killed 
scores of men. I see them thus in every direction. Mercy! 
mercy on me ! And now I see men and boys falling from 
trees like leaves in autumn, mangled in death, or crippled 



496 cotton's keepsake. 

for life. Dear me, what a sight! Now I see runaway- 
horses and carriages, dashing their riders or occupants 
into dearth and ruin, in a most fearful manner. Bless me, 
what a fearful sight ! And now the rifle and musket are 
doing a sad work every where. Bang ! bang ! they go, and 
down falls a bleeding victim, gasping and struggling in 
death, me ! Now scores are drowning every where, in. 
cisterns, wells, ponds, lakes, rivers, and oceans. Now men 
and women are committing suicide by drowning or shoot- 
ing themselves, or cutting their own throats ; now they 
are shooting or cutting the throats of their neighbors ; 
now they are being sent to jail, or the penitentiary ; now 
they are being hung upon the scaffold, and thousands 
witness the sad spectacle. But I have not time to show 
you all ; take the panorama and look into it at your leisure. 
Such then is " the picture of human life," as it really is — 
full of danger, and full of death, full of temptation, and 
full of crime — no, not full, but too full. 

Moral. — As we know not, when we go out, lioio or when 
we shall come in, we should always keep our affairs, and 
especially our hearts and minds, in a state of constant 
preparation, either for life or death, since " we know not 
what a day or an hour may bring forth." 

Was ever such a picture of real life before dra^vn by 
pen or pencil? But, perhaps, some will say that I have 
overdrawn it ; that strangers will think that Dearborn is 
an unusual place for murders and suicides — for accidents 
and sudden deaths. Not at all, friends. What is true of 
her, is true of almost every place, as a similar report 
would show. Look around you and see ; call up to mind 
what you have forgotten ; then just travel back with me a 
single moment into Maine, "the land of steady habits," 
and read a small portion of her history. My poor brother 
that perished at sea, was once taken up for dead, by the 
falling of a tree, escaped by the skin of his teeth, and 
was injured for life. My dear sister threw her anklo 
square out of joint, by stepping upon a rolling stone ; has 



HISTORICAL. 497 

suffered a world of woe ; and never has fully recovered 
from it ; and I well-nigh perished " under a sled." Israel 
No^-es, before he left Maine, was thrown from his horse, 
which trod upon his forehead, and smashed his skull in just 
over the eye. He was taken up for a corpse ; many pieces 
of bone were taken out; and he carried the scar into his 
grave. Hugh Noyes, also, fell forty feet from a tree; frac- 
tured his skull ; was taken up for dead ; pieces of bono 
were extracted ; and he, too, carried the scar into his 
grave. Alfred C. York, a young man of hope and promise, 
who was named for me, accidently shot himself with a 
fowling-piece, and fell a mangled and bleeding corpse. 
Poor fellow! His name is fondly cherished still. Mrs. 
Isaac Cushman cut her throat with a razor, and perished 
in her own gore. Mrs. Isaac Allen cut her throat in a 
fearful manner, but was arrested and saved. Mrs. Nehe- 
miah Allen hung herself, and subsequently a daughter, a 
woman grown, hung herself. These things all occurred 
right in my youthful neighborhood. Then Drew murdered 
a man, and was hung at Portland ; and 0, what a sad day 
that was to me! Pote killed his wife with a shovel; and 
Purington killed his wife and seven children, and then 
cut his own throat from ear to ear ; all were found in the 
morning, ghastly, bloody, and stiff, and cold in death. All 
this took place not far from my father's residence. There 
is a picture of horror for you. 

And such things occurring in actual life, it may be well 
occasionally to " behold them as in a glass ;" and hence it 
is that I have drawn my picture ; and surely it is such an 
one as no author ever before attempted. I have omitted 
some tragical deaths, because friends have desired me so 
to do; and I have also omitted some infanticides, because 
of the delicacy of the subject. 

And 0, what "a temperance picture " I could draw, were 

it admissible here. Many of the crimes, and tragedies, and 

accidents, and calamities, are clearly chargeable to " the 

ardent." "Rum and ruin," "one and inseparable." I 

42 



498 cotton's keepsake. 

said, in the outset, that the principal merit of my book 
would consist in its originality, its oddity, its variety, and 
its truthfulness ; and I have the assurance to ask, if upon 
these points I have not faithfully redeemed my pledge. All 
my stories, I believe, are suhstantially true, though not in 
all the minor particulars ; as, for instance, the story about 
Judge Dunn and that Indian massacre. I gave that in 
short hand, for convenience, intending to publish the judge's 
thrilling narrative, as presented to the Pioneer Association 
of Cincinnati, in an appendix, to which the reader was re- 
ferred. But I find I must dispense with my appendix alto- 
gether, and I regret it sorely. The judge's own version, 
however, fully endorses all that I said, simply changing the 
words and circumstances a little. He also confirms all the 
marvellous Indian and wild beast stories, and even the 
** nettle-weed" apparel. My book is emphatically and 
essentially " a book of truth," spiced with anecdote and 
variety, in order to make it the more pleasingly profitable 
and acceptable. I might have footed up all my stories of a 
certain character, but I have thought it best to let the reader 
do that himself, as a little pleasant pastime. 

And now, as I have only one surviving child, a son, I will 
here give a few extracts of his published California letters, 
as well for their preservation as for " a memorial of him ;" 
and will only say, that he left home in feeble health, very 
feeble, and that, after two years absence, he returned, all 
safe and sound, M^ith his health much improved, and with 
twelve hundred of "the yellow boys" in his pockets, or at 
his command. I am well pleased with the moral tone of 
his letters, under all the circumstances, and think them 
well worthy of preservation and general perusal, on that 
account, as well as for the reliable general and historical 
information they contain. But here are the extracts ; read 
them, and judge for yourselves. 



HISTORICAL. 499 



CALIFORNIA LETTERS. 

" The following are the substance of late California letters 
from W. N. Cotton, to his parents and friends in Man- 
chester." 

Fort Laramie, June 15. 

We are well and getting on without any serious difficulty, 
our horses little worse for the wear, but we shall make the 
trip, I think, very safely. A thousand teams, at least, have 
passed this place enroute for Oregon and the Gold Diggings ; 
and there is a vast train in our rear. We have passed as 
many as one hundred and fifty a day, and we can now see 
them thick for miles. This is a delightful region of coun- 
try. Laramie, Scott's Bluffs, and the surrounding scenery 
is romantically grand and beautiful, and irresistibly calls 
forth the wonder and admiration of the entranced beholder. 
All I know from our region of country are well — except 
we all occasionally have slight attacks of home sickness. 

AVm. N. Cotton-. 

I sit me down again to inform you how it goes with me 
in this far off land of song and gold, which, when you have 
read, you will say is poorly enough indeed. But having 
pledged you upon honor that I would at all times, and 
under all circumstances, give you a fair and true statement 
of my health and my success, I will now, as on all former 
occasions, unbosom myself fully and freely to you. 

My health remaining so poor, and the mining prospects 
so dull, I have concluded to abandon all farther operations 
therein, and shall set out early to-morrow morning, for 
Sacramento City, and try, if possible, to get work at my 
trade. How I shall succeed remains yet to be seen. My 
anticipations are rot very high, for I know too well that 
this country, healthy and beautiful as it is, is full of people 
begging business. But, having incurred the expense and 
encountered the toil and dangers of the outward trip, I am 
fully and firmly resolved, in spite of aflBiiction and dis- 



500 cotton's keepsake. 

heartening failures, to hope on and stay on, and make 
something out of it, if there is anything here for me. If 
not, after a patient, a fair and a thorough trial, I shall take 
the back track, as best I may — on that you may safely 
rely. 

The contents of this letter, I know and feel, will grieve 
and afflict you much, but how much more so would it, to 
learn that I had abandoned myself to utter despair — to 
dissipation, and all the wicked abomination of this far- 
famed land of " the shining ore." But, no, friends, no, 
but rather like an afflicted one of old, "my integrity I 
hold fast, and will not let it go." 

I have just stept out a moment to take my last survey 
of the surrounding scenery, seven miles from Shasty City, 
which is rather rich and romantic than otherwise. The 
golden blazing sun appears to be about two rods above the 
towering peaks of the western mountains, and all around on 
either hand, the mountain summits are capped with fleecy 
snow — their sides are variegated and beautified by bold 
precipices and nodding evergreens, among which and along 
the ravines, the miners may be seen at their laborious and 
various callings. The sighing of the tall tree tops in the 
breeze — the mournful murmurings of the limpid streams, 
as they rush headlong to the mighty ocean, and the pensive 
musings of my own heart, all conspire to make it both 
impressive and imposing. But I must turn away from all, 
scarcely knowing Avhither I should go, or what will become 
of me. But duty and necessity prompts, and I tear my- 
self away from all these things and my kind friends here, 
with a bold and manly heart. The " die is cast," and the 
struggle o'er. 

If any of my friends have symptoms of the California 
fever, I would just prescribe for them: "Let them arise 
bright and early some morning, rain or shine, no matter ; 
let them fancy that they are iti California. Shoulder their 
spades and grubbing hoes — march straight into some creek, 
or out upon some steep hillside — toil hard all day — have 



HISTORICAL. 501 

little to eat, and, when nightfall comes upon them, weary 
and faint, let them fancy again that they have scraped to- 
gether the precious dust to the full value of 25 cents, 

and are out at least one dollar for board, scanty and poor 
as it was, and finally let them fancy themselves in my con- 
dition, (and thousands are worse off,) without health, with- 
out money, and in debt, and some 3500 miles from home, 
and if that do n't cure them, let them come on and try it for 
themselves. Perchance they may do better — perchance not. 
But my paper is out and I must hold up. I will write you 
again from Sacramento, whether for better or worse. In 
the mean time, do n't fail to address me there. Oh, if you 
knew the pleasure your letters impart, you would, as I trust 
you do, take pleasure in writing. All the Dearborn boys, 
so far as I know, are well, and some are doing well. My 
love to all inquiring friends. Farewell, farewell ! 

Wm. N. Cotton. 



BucKsroRT, Cal., Jan. 31st, 1853. 

Having at last found a resting-place and a leisure mo- 
ment, I seize my pen to redeem my last pledge. I found 
Sacramento a perfect mud-hole, owing to the recent inun- 
dations ; Lawrenceburgh was never a patching to it. I 
could get into no business, and can hardly say that I want- 
ed to. I then pressed my way to San Francisco, but to no 
better purpose. Ever}- thing was full to overflowing. I then 
directed my course to Humboldt bay, two hundred and fifty 
miles above, on the coast, where I arrived safe and sound, 
but faint and weary. Here I found employment, getting 
out lumber at one hundred dollars per month, and I shall 
commence operations in the morning. My health has im- 
proved since I have inhaled the breezes from the broad 
and beautiful Pacific. 

Whether I shall be able to work, or whether I have 
fallen into honest hands, remains yet to be seen. I am 
most emphatically *' a stranger in a strange land.'' There 



502 cotton's keepsake. 

is no human soul about me that I have ever seen or heard 
of before. But I keep a stiff upper lip, as the saying is, 
and am cheered and animated with hope that a better day 
has dawned upon me. The bay will supply us with an 
abundance of fish, ducks, and geese, and the forest abounds 
•with deer, elks, antelopes, wolves, California lions, grizzly 
bears, and Indians in any quantity. So then I shall have 
plenty of company, such as it is. If my health improves, 
and my employer be honest, I shall be abundantly satisfied. 
Well, I am at last fairly at the "jumping-off place,'' on the 
shore of the famed Pacific. I will write to you again soon. 
My love to all my old friends. Farewell. 

Wm. N. Cotton. 



BucKSPORT, Cal., March 28, 1853. 
Dear Parents : — I am still with Mr. Dean, on the bay, 
and find both him and his family very kind and agreeable. 
My health continues greatly to improve. Indeed, I feel 
that I am well — can toil hard all day, and scarcely feel 
the least fatigued when night calls me to my repose. And 
that I have not been able to say before for years. The sea 
breezes are so invigorating and bracing, that I almost feel 
as though I were in a new and enchanted world. From a 
well known principle in natural philosophy, these sea 
breezes are warm and delightful in winter, and cool and 
refreshing in summer. All that I have ever read and heard 
about them I find more than realized in their rich enjoy- 
ment. When I arrived here, about two months ago, my 
weight was just one hundred and twenty-seven pounds — 
to-day it stands at one hundred and forty-six pounds, which 
is a little more than I ever weighed before — so much about 
my health— and my increased cheerfulness keeps even pace 
with it. I am full of hope, and feel that a brighter day 
has indeed daAvned upon me. But, oh, what have I men- 
tally and physically sufi'ered since I left home, no language 
can express, no inexperienced mind can conceive ! 



HISTORICAL. 503 

I am now receiving one hundred dollars per month, 
chopping and hauling lumber a short distance to the bay, 
and then we raft it down a short distance to the mill, where 
it is soon sawed up and disposed of to good account. And 
such timber, too, is a sight to behold, or would be, I guess, 
if you could see the whole of it at once. We have pines 
here that are three hundred feet high, whose summits seem 
to pierce the very clouds. Well, that will do for hight, I 
guess, and tax your credulity at that. We have trees, 
called red wood, eighteen or twenty feet through, which I 
have seen ; there is one of the kind in the neighborhood, 
I am informed, measures twenty- three yards in circumfer- 
ence, or twenty-two feet through. A gentleman, here, 
sawed off a cut, from one of these trees, eighteen inches 
long, which is over twenty feet through, and is going to 
ship it whole round to New York for the World's Fair. 
You M'ill, perhaps, say that this is rather a big story, and 
so it is ; but then, you see, I had mighty big timber to 
make it out of. 

I long to see you all very much, and suppose that I could 
now do so this fall, but as I am here in good health, 
well pleased, and doing well, I can not think of returning 
before one year from this fall. It is a long time to look 
ahead, I hardly dare think about it, but as my trip has 
been alike hard upon me and my family, I am resolved to 
make something out of it, before I leave, if there is any- 
thing here for me. 

Your letters are ever thankfully received, and I hope you 
will continue to send them often — would that you were all 
here yourselves with me, standing on its borders, and look- 
ing out upon the broad waters of the Pacific — inhaling its 
reviving atmosphere, and then turning j^ou around, fifty 
miles in your rear, or from the coast, over a beautiful plain, 
you will see mountains in every direction peering up into 
the clouds. 0, it is delightful! It is beholding "nature 
in her grandest — in her sublimest moods V 

I must now hold up, but will write to you again soon ; 



604 cotton's keepsake. 

my warmest expressions of love to you, to my doubly dear 
wife and babes, and to my friends generally. Farewell, 
dear father and mother, farewell. Good night. 

Wm. N. Cotton. 



BucKSPORT, HuMBOLT Bay, Cal., Sept. 5. 

Dear Parents : — Yours of June 29th was duly received, 
and it made my heart leap for joy to learn that you and 
yours and mine were all still alive and well as usual. You 
manifest great solicitude for my health and happiness 
while here and for my safe return "in due time." As I 
am your only surviving child, I trust that I duly appre- 
ciate your anxiety about me, and shall hope to act, at all 
times, and under all circumstances, even in this far off 
land, worthy both of myself and you. You also manifest 
not a little solicitude lest I be led astray from the path of 
virtue and peace. True, there are many allurements to 
vice ; but then you should also remember that I stand on 
firmer, safer ground in this particular than I should were 
I " a drunken, gambling, pilfering chap," like too many 
in this " land of gold." But I am very careful what com- 
pany I keep. I recollect the story of " Poor Tray," and 
try to profit by it. A man who is correct in his morals, 
keeps only good company, is industrious, "minds his own 
business," can get along as safely and be as much re- 
spected here as at any other place "on this green and 
beautiful earth," 

I keep a sharp look out for " breakers ahead," and 
hitherto have got along smoothly and happily, so far as 
these things are concerned, ever since I left home, and trust 
that I shall until I return thither again. Ah ! that to wie, 
as well as to you and mine, will be a joyful day, but how 
soon I can not now say. I am here in good health, and 
*' doing a fair business," and I do not wish to leave too 
soon, and shall endeavor to avoid the other error, that of 
staying here too long, (which would never be if my family 



HISTORICAL. 505 

and friends were here.) " The broad, beautiful Pacific," 
*' the romantic scenery" around me, and, above all, the 
mild and healthy climate, has charms for me that I have 
nowhere else found. And if I, in the end, fail in the dimes, 
I have gained tliousands in health, and with that I shall 
be content, and abundantly compensated for my trip. The 
gentlemen for whom I have been laboring are now behind, 
with me more than $200, so I have concluded to hold up a 
little — may resume soon. I have this day been offered $75 
per month to work on a farm, which is much easier and 
less dangerous than " rafting logs down the bay." We 
get many good " sousings,'^ but none as yet have been 
drowned. I think I can get $80 per month if I would 
say the word, and I may, as it is right here close by my 
land. I shall be at something soon, I can not be idle here. 
If at nothing else, I shall make further improvements on 
my land, it will all tell by and by to good account, and 
"no mistake." I shall write to you as usual, quite often, 
and hope you will continue to do so too. " A letter from 
home!" what a treat! let me enjoy it often. If mine 
continue to miscarry, do n't be alarmed, but console your- 
selves with the thought that I am somewhere in this busy 
world doing well, and always " right side up, with care." 
All my friends here are well, and doing well. My love to 
all my old friends. Adieu, adieu. 

Wm. N. Cotton. 



43 



506 cotton's keepsake. 



CONCLUSION. 

Having studied human nature long and well, and being 
thus "posted up," in the "whims and caprices," the diversi- 
fied tastes and opinions, the "likes and dislikes" of man- 
kind, I have not the vanity to suppose that every one will 
like my little book, even as a whole — much less, that any 
one should like all that is in it. It was not so anticipated, 
not so intended. Like " mine host," I have catered for 
many tastes, and not for one only. If you find any thing 
that do n't suit your taste, just " leff it he" as you would 
at a well-spread table. If you find enough " savory and 
palatable " before you for " a full and rich repast," with 
that you should be content. And from the ample provision 
and the great variety I have served up for you, you can 
not appropriate and enjoy the full value of the " bill of 
fare," all I have to say is that you must be \evy penurious, 
or very hard to please, or, perchance, both. And some yew? 
Buch readers, no doubt, I shall have after all. For I have 
long been more than convinced by observation and experi- 
ence, that no man can make a speech or write an article, 
or do his whole duty faithfully and fully, in any particu- 
lar, and " please everybody.'' The thing just " can't be did,'^ 
so it can't. You might just as well undertake to **jump 
Jim Crow," in a tar bucket — gather up a bushel of fleas 
turned loose in a stubble patch — climb to the moon on a 
honey locust — dam up the Mississippi with a thimble full 
of sand — capsize the Andes with a knitting needle — empty 
the ocean with a teaspoon — sail to the north pole on a 
shingle — raise a mighty tornado with a fanning mill — scull 
up the falls of Niagara in a potash kettle with a crowbar — 
quench the fires of ^tna with a single dew drop — or blow 
out the sun with a hand-bellows. And that, as a lawyer 
would say, is "making out a pretty strong case," and no 
mistake. 

If my little book shall prove to be " an acceptable 
ofiering" to my friends and patrons generally; if editors 



HISTORICAL. 507 

extend to it a favorable notice — " the thing will take," and 
I and mine are amply provided for until "the duties and 
the conflicts of life are over," and that is all I ask — all I 
desire. If otherwise, "the thing is out,'^ and the drama 
will close with " myself a used up author." But there is 
DO real terror even in that. Many of earth's greatest ben- 
efactors have died in poorhouses and in prisons ; and of 
some it is written that — 

"They begged their daily bread 
Through lands their valor won." 

Considering the vast amount and variety of the matter — 
the materials and the workmanship of my little offering, 
its price should at least be one dollar and a half instead of 
one dollar, at which it is offered. I would, however, realize 
from the sale of many thousands, " the Utile I stand in need 
of sooner than to realize the same amount from a few, be- 
cause it would give to it a wider circulation, and be much 
more accessible to " the humble poor." Consequently, if I 
can possibly "double the cape," at the present price, no 
alteration will hereafter be made. Ten cents upon two 
books equals twenty upon one — -just as good for the vender 
and 80 much better for the purchaser. 

Reader, if you think my book possesses merit worthy of 
your countenance and support — that it really is " a bar- 
gain," at one dollar, say so to your neighbors and friends, 
and it will help the thing along. If you think otherwise, 
admonish them, that they may not be bitten too. 

In reading " the proofs" from the plates, I was trans- 
ported with delight to see how near to perfection my book 
will appear — the result of intense care and application on 
my part, and the taste and skill of those who have had 
charge of its mechanical execution. A few slight errors — 
very slight — are to be found in its pages, but even those 
are " like angel's visits, few and far between." 

My dear reader, if your time and patience are not alto- 
gether exhausted, please follow me through my closing 



608 cotton's keepsake. 

remarks, and then I will "dismiss you in due form," both 
with my thanks and my benediction. My intended "Ad- 
vice to parents and teachers," in the peaceful and happy 
management of families and schools, and my arithmetical 
illustrations for beginners, in the science of numbers, I 
find I must omit, with many other things deeply interest- 
ing, and deeply as I regret it. And here I would remark — 
an old adage says that, "it is useless to cry over spilt 
milk" — over those which can not be remedied or avoided. 
Well, I now discover that in my little book enterprise, 
I have committed two egregious errors, for Avhich there is 
no remedy, except to " grin and bear it." First, I should 
have undertaken to publish my Poems only — then I could 
have used a fuller type — saved what I have been compelled 
to cast aside, which would have formed a volume sufficiently 
large for the patience of the reader, perhaps, and quite as 
large as could well be gotten up for one dollar. Then my 
Autobiography and History would have filled another vol- 
ume of a similar size, equally convenient, and interesting. 
In attempting to crowd two volumes into one, I have, in 
some sense, spoiled both, although the volume I here pre- 
sent must be more valuable and interesting than either of 
those separately, because it contains much more matter, 
and a more pleasing variety. It is myself, then, after all, 
that is the principal loser. 

Secondly, I committed an error in not fixing up a larger 
page — an octavo instead of a duodecimo — then I could 
still have used larger type, and still have kept my book in 
due shape and proportion, and to secure which, I have been 
compelled to use smaller type than I intended or desired. 
But, every thing considered, I am vain enough to believe 
that I shall treat my friends to a very nice, pretty, interest- 
ing little book, quite superior to any thing that I promised 
them, or that they had any good reason to expect at my in- 
experienced hands. And if they shall think so, too, it will 
all be right, for one of their "think so's" will be worth 
many of mine. 



HISTORICAL. 509 

Well, " live and learn " is another maxim, t7'ue io the life. 
I thought, with all the materials I had on hand, that it 
would be " a perfect play spell," " a most agreeable pas- 
time," to "write out a book," and "come out an author," 
But never "m all the horn days of my life,'' did I ever as- 
sume a task so laborious, both to body and mind ; so full 
of care, so delicate, the subject of such deep solicitude and 
restlessness, and sleepless anxiety, as the task of "preparing 
a work for the press." And the abundance of matter has 
been no small part of the annoyance to me. AVhat to select 
and what to reject has taxed my ingenuity and my judgment 
to its utmost tension, and still, no doubt, I have often erred 
at last. I have, however, in my soundest discretion, and 
coolest deliberation, done my best, my very best, my death 
best, all things considered, and with the result I must and 
will be content. 

My manuscri;)ts have undergone no revision, no correc- 
tion, by any living mortal. As I said in the preface, I have 
chosen to keep \t purely and exclusively my own; and thus 
I send it abroad, with all its errors, upon its " mission of 
love." And in writing it out for the press, I have endeav- 
ored to make it increase in interest as it has increased in 
size, instead of " tapering off," as many books do ; and to 
the best of my judgment, all things considered, I have 
"kept the very best of the wine for the last of the feast," 
and well indeed if it shall so appear to the reader, and 
without which it will prove a failure. 

My dear, kind readers, my book is now written ; is now 
in your hands ; and although a much larger book, and I 
think, too, every way, a much prettier, and more -interesting 
book than I promised, or that you had good reason to ex- 
pect, as stated before, yet nevertheless I fear, I greatly fear, 
that your "anticipations" will not be fully realized. But 
if you will only take into the account my protracted illness, 
my great debility, I think you must and will admit that I 
have performed wonders. At any rate, I have astonished 
myself, if nobody else. Hardly able to sit at my desk, so 



510 cotton's keepsake/ 

faint and feeble, yet " little by little," I have at last com- 
pleted my voluminous manuscripts ; and which, in con- 
nection vrith superintending the publication, "correcting 
proofs,'^ etc., has been nearly the death of me. I have ac- 
tually fainted away in the office, and there had to lie down 
and be revived before I could finish my morning task, and 
once was so faint, and dizzy, and blind, and feeble, that I 
was compelled to leave my task undone, and to seek repose 
and quiet in my bed. And I am so faint and dizzy noio, 
that I can scarcely sit at my desk, or wield my pen ; for 
my "Conclusions^ I have omitted until now, that I might 
the better know how to conclude. 

The printers are after me, and so I must furnish them the 
balance of the copy, and I trust I shall be able to "worry 
through it," and so "I stick and hang on." But I am quite 
sure that neither the love of fame, of honor, or wealth, could 
have held me to the task under ail the forbidding and almost 
insurmountable discouragements and difficulties I have had 
to encounter and overcome. I should rather have sought 
repose in the bosom of my family, and upon my bed, than 
to earn wealth, honor, or fame, at so dear a price. A desire 
to " serve and please" my friends ; to snatch from oblivion 
the "thrilling incidents" in a forest life, and of life gener- 
ally, as it is ; to leave a memorial of myself, something that 
shall do good after I am gone, and something to sustain and 
maintain myself and lady under the infirmities of affliction 
and old age (for I would not be burdensome to any ; no, not 
for a single day) — has nerved my heart and held me to my 
task, until Finis is about written to my book — and I feel, 
too, that it is about written to my life's history. Well, be 
it so. God, in answer to prayer, and in his own wise provi- 
dence, has "lengthened out the brittle chord of life," until 
my delicate and laborious assumption is accomplished. And, 
adoring him for his grace, I can, I think, understandingly 
say, with one of old, "Now, Lord, lettest thou thy servant 
depart in peace." I thank God for my existence, and cheer- 
fully surrender it up at his call. I have found mere sweets 



HISTORICAL. 511 

than bitters, more pleasures than pains, on the great theater 
of " life's busy and changing scenes/^ I early learned to 
look upon the bright side, and to "take every thing by the 
smooth handle ;" have dwelt with gratitude upon the bless- 
ings, instead of brooding over the ills of life, viuth murmur- 
ing and complaints. And hence it is that mine has been a 
very pleasant voyage "o'er life's tempestuous sea," and 
Mrs. Bolton never sang a sweeter, a truer lay than the fol- 
lowing. Read it, and profit by it, everybody. 

'^THE SWEETS AND ILLS OF LIFE. 

" We bid the joyous moments haste, 
And then forget i\\Q\Y ylitter ; 
We take ' the cup of life,' but taste 
No portion but the hitter: 

"But -we should teach our hearts to deem 
The sweetest drops the strongest, 
And pleasant hours should always seem 
To Linger round us longest. 

" As life is sometimes ' bright and fair,^ 
And sometimes ' dark and lonely,^ 
Let us forget its ' toil and care,^ 
And note its bright hours onZy." 

This is a gem of rare beauty which I have noted and 
emphasized, in order to impress its truthfulness and beauty 
upon the reader. I know it to be true, by a blessed and 
happy experience. 

And here I would again, most humbly and most grate- 
fully acknowledge, that to Divine Providence, I am deeply 
and lastingly indebted, for the gift of life, and all its rich 
pleasures and pure enjoyments. And I have full faith and 
confidence to hope and believe that the same divine good- 
ness will still be exercised toward me, either in prolonging 
the duration of my life and pleasure, or by giving me grace 
and fortitude to sustain me under any sad reverses that 
may befall or overtake me. I confidently rely upon the 



612 cotton's keepsake. 

promise which has never yet once failed me, " all along 
the journey of life." " As thy days are, so shall thy 
strength be." The past is told — the future is known only 
to Him " in whom we live, and move, and have our being," 
and into whose hands I now commit my all, " soul, body, 
and spirit;" all that 1 am, all that I have, and all that I 
hope for, in life, and in death ; in time, and in eternity. 
Yes, I now commit all to Him, " in Avell-doing, as unto a 
faithful Creator.^^ 

And when I lay my spirit down, 

Thy servant, Lord attend, 
And ! my life of mercy crown 

With a triumphant end. 

But before I close my book, or go hence to be no more, 
I feel impelled to say that I should do violence to my own 
feelings, to my sense of right and justice, to my bounden 
duty, not to acknowledge my pure heartfelt gratitude to 
my kind neighbors, and friends, and fellow citizens in 
general, (not universally by any means) but generally, for 
the very liberal and cheerful patronage, and other helps, 
they have extended toward me in my book enterprise. 
Dearborn, alone, put me up about one thouand subscribers, 
many of whom took several copies, and voluntarily paid in 
advance, "book or no book." And all the money I wag 
out in getting up that list, was 07ie single half dime for 
ferriage. All passed me free, sent me on my way with 
their horses and buggies, and the general strife seemed to 
be to see who could best nurse, and entertain, and do the 
most for me. And I know that all did it with " a right 
hearty good will," because it was done so cheerfully, and 
the money often refused. Nor have my good friends in 
Cincinnati been less liberal and kind. Here I have been 
two months and a half superintending the printing and 
publishing of my little book, and not the first friend has 
charged or taken a single " red cent," and over and above 
passing me "scot free," they have treated me to a fine new 



HISTORICAL. 513 

hat, coat and vest in the bargain. Taken all together, the 
like surely was never known, and I have learned that wealth 
in the pockets of my friends is quite as safe and available 
in " the time of need," as though it were in my own. If 
I am not rich in dollars and cents, I am in the affections 
and good-will, of all those, generally, most intimately ac- 
quainted with me, the demonstrating proofs of which I 
have abundantly received, and, with which I am abundantly 
satisfied, and feel that I have not lived in vain. Prom- 
inent among my kind friends in the city, are Capt. Hugh 
Scott and lady, and their amiable daughter, Miss Susan, 
and Miss Mary Dinsmore, Mathew Hall and lady, James 
Carson, Esq., and his good venerable mother, Charles Ange- 
vine and lady, and good old Mother Davenport, Adolphus 
Kirsher and lady, Thomas and Joseph Hall and ladies, 
Rev. George B. Rogers and lady, James Owry, Esq., and 
lady, David Guiou and lady, and my ever-cherished Caroline, 
of whom honorable mention has already been made, and 
Edward B. Cummings and others. 0! these friends have 
been exceedingly kind and liberal toward me, as I find them 
everyioliere. Nor can I pass unnoticed the editorial corps, 
friend Bookwalter, of the Register, friend Martin, of the 
Banner, friend Goodwin, of the American, friend Waldo, of 
the Reveille, and friend Gregg of the Tribune, for favorable 
and complimentary notices, and others, whose journals 
have not " come to hand," may have equal claims upon my 
*' gratitude and love." ! I am " overcome Avith obligations." 
And still ohligations of " gratitude and love" come crowd- 
ing in upon me, and I can not pass without saying that "the 
publishers," Applegate & Co., friends C. F. O'DriscoU & 
Co., of the Franklin Foundry, and Messrs. Henry, Whel- 
pley, and Giddings, foremen in the ofl&ce, and all the com- 
positors and stereotypers, have been exceedingly kind, oblig- 
ing, and agreeable in their dealings with me. I repeat, I 
am overcome with obligations of gratitude and love to God 
himself — to all my friends — if not to this " beautiful green 
earth," which I quite soon must leave. 



514 cotton's keepsake. 

Applegate & Co., are deserving of all praise and a lib- 
eral patronage, which is being accorded to them. Kind and 
obliging in their intercourse, they put their work up " in 
first rate order," as will be seen. But enough. 

Finally, I would just say, for the gratification and infor- 
mation of my readers and friends generally, that four years 
ago I went on a visit to my venerable mother and friends, 
descended the lakes and the St. Lawrence, as far north 
and east as Montreal, in Canada, crossed over into Maine, 
enjoyed a most delightful season, got " as hearty and fat as 
a bear,'' and returned home, invigorated both in mind and 
body, but arriving there in the midst of that exceedingly 
hot August, the change of temperature being so great, and 
the transition so sudden, I melted down, "like a candle in 
the sun." It appeared as though I could not breathe, that 
I must suffocate. I became restless and nervous, lost my rest 
and my appetite, took what is called the " water-brash," in its 
worst form, and gradually wasted away, or ran down from 
two hundred and twenty pounds to just one hundred and 
twenty-six — a mere skeleton — hardly enough left to "keep 
soul and body together." I thought my time had come, and 
made all my arrangements to close up the affairs of life, 
and really thought once I was dying, and was happy in the 
hope of " a better inheritance above." But contrary to my 
own expectations, or the expectations of my family and my 
friends, it has pleased God to continue my stay upon the 
earth until the present day. From one hundred and twenty- 
six pounds, I gradually ran up again to just one hundred 
and fifty. But for several months past, I have been run- 
ning down again — have just stepped off the scales, and find 
I hardly balance one hundred and thirty-five pounds, and 
still the inclination is downward, and I begin to feel again 
that I am about at the foot of the hill. Well, be it so. I 
am both happy and content, now that my book is finished 
and complete. Peradventure, God has spared me alone for 
that purpose. I repeat, I am both happy and content in 
view of my approaching dissolution — of death and the 



HISTORICAL. 515 

grave. And although life is still sweet, and friendship 

dear, and earth's inviting charms still court my stay, yet 

upon the v^'hole, I rather court than dread "the repose of 

the grave." Indeed I do, through mercy rich, and full, 

and free. 

"0, 'tis better to depart, 

'T is better far, to die." 
Die! did I say? Oh, no! 

" The good man never dies." — B. S. Baxter. 
" ' The good man never dies,' though threescore years and ten 
May have passed unheeded by in the busy marts of men ; 
In fertile field or shady grove, on mountain, sea, or shore, 
' His works of faith and love ' are blessings evermore. 
As the circlet of the sea at the pebble's tiny fall. 
As the wavelet of the air from the mountain hunter's call. 
As the streaming of the light, so, mid weariness and strife, 
Do his ' words of gentleness ' fill ' the infinite of life.' 
They live while he is ivasting, they breathe when he is gone, 
Immortal in their freshness is every good deed done; 
Immortal in their blessings, and on — immortal still — ■ 
To wither and to blacken alone are ' deeds of ilV " 

These thoughts cheer and animate my heart, now that 
the labors and duties of life, with me, are apparently 
about wound to a close. What the purposes of God, to- 
ward me, are, I can not say, nor am I overly anxious to 
know. The will of God be done, whether it be "life or 
death." It is confidently anticipated by most of my friends, 
now that my book is off my hands, that mental and physical 
repose in the bosom of my family, and light open-air exer- 
cise will resuscitate and revive me, and that I may yet live 
to number my " three score years and ten." But I feel as 
though I were about 

" Freed from the cares of earth, life's journey o'er. 
And gladly hail thee, thou bright sunny shore 1 
From all my toils and cares removed by death, 
Peacefully, joyfully, I yield my breath. 



516 cotton's keepsake. 

I see the fair trees, on the banks of the stream, 
All waving in glory, and brightly they gleam ; 
0! rich are the clusters of fruit which they bear, 
Bending right near me, and urging me there. 

Friends may lament — they see not the sight 
Which now is so filling my soul with delight ; 
Angels are beckoning — my Savior says come — 
0, why should I tarry when ' almost at horned " 

And if I only had the assurance that I should " sleep my 
last long sleep, that knows no waking," in some delightful 
cemetery like Mount Auburn, near Boston, Greenwood, New 
York, Laurel Hill, Philadelphia, or Spring Grove, near Cin- 
cinnati, it would tend much to " loosen the bands of death,'' 
and make death itself a welcome messenger ; for I do con- 
fess, that the idea of being buried in some fence-corner or 
dilapidated family burying-ground, all grown over with 
*' briars and brambles," is, to me, rather a chilling and for- 
bidding contemplation. But in these tasty, neat, and beau- 
tiful cemeteries, one almost feels that it would be a luxury 
to " lie down and die." 

"How sweet to lay our precious dead 

In such a spot to sleep, 
Where waving trees their branches spread, 

And stars their vigils keep; 
While angels watch with wakeful eyes, 
To guard the dust we so much prize. 

Where wild wood flowers their pale leaves shed, 

And ' pinks and roses ' wave, 
Where bud on bud bows down its head 

Above each cherished grave : 
Here lambs are gathered to his breast; 
The sad find joy — the weary rest." 

But I shall be content to slumber in the " Zion burying- 
ground," at Wright's Corner, beside my loved and cherished 
friend, Edward Freeman, or the Rev. Brother Griffith, or 



HISTORICAL. 517 

wherever it shall be deemed most expedient and convenient 
by my friends. It is, upon the vrhole, matter of little eon- 
sequence vi'here I repose in death — since 

God, my redeemer lives, 

And ever from the skies 
Looks down and ivatches all my dust 

Till he shall bid it rise. 

The evening shades are now upon me, and feeble and 
faint I must hasten to my repose, with the prayer and the 
"parting word" my good mamma early taught me, and 
which I have repeated a thousand times, and love to repeat 
it still :— 

" Now I lay me down to sleep, 
I pray the Lord my soul to keep; 
If I should die before I wake, 
I pray the Lord my soul to take." 

"Good night, reader — good night, friends — good night, 
all" And all is said. 

A. J. Cotton. 
Cincinnati, June 5, 1858. 



INDEX 



My Poems, being all properly classified, will be indexed 
as paged, and not alphabetically. My Autobiography, and 
the most important items in it, will also be found by re- 
ference to the Index, The Historical Incidents and facts 
will be found by reference to the localities where they oc- 
curred. Each citizen of old Dearborn will find that which 
more immediately interests him, by a reference to his own 
city, village, town, or neighborhood. 



POEMS. 

RELIGIOUS. PAaB 

Lines — Experimental 23 

Call to the Ministry 26 

Love-Feast Hymn 28 

Class-Meeting Hymn 29 

Prayer-Meeting Hymn 32 

A Happy Death ,.. 33 

A Poetic Sermon 35 

Song on Divinity 40 

Day of Judgment 44 

CRIMINAL. 

Execution of Fuller 47 

" " Bennett 55 

" the Kelleys 5T 

Youthful Convict 58 

(519) 



520 INDEX. 

TEMPERANCE, page 

The Tomb of Blasdell 62 

Rising Sun Riot 65 

Divorce 67 

Temperance Ditty 71 

Cantata 75 

POLITICAL. 

The Yankee Nation 78 

Political Address 81 

National Toasts 83 

EDITORIAL. 

Newcastle Banner 85 

Complimentary Epistle 88 

Answer to same 92 

LITERARY. 

Invitation to School 97 

Answer 98 

School Composition 99 

Response 100 

Pupils' Adieu 102 

Response 103 

Beauties of Nature 104 

Response 106 

Contentment 108 

Lightly Tread 110 

Teacher's Farewell Ill 

EPISTOLARY. 

To Parents 116 

To Brothers 117 

To Mrs. Cotton 118 

To Sisters, 120 

Letter Directions 125 



INDEX. 521 

HYMENEAL PUNNINGS. pagk 

Hymeneal Punnings 129 

ODES. 

Sabbath Schools 151 

Temperance 154 

National H\^mn 157 

AVashington 159 

Jackson 1G2 

Indiana Volunteers 165 

Ladies' Tribune 168 

Daughters of Temperance 171 

Industry 172 

County Fair 175 

A Forest Life 178 

Progress 186 

ELEGIES. 

Mary Tuttle 192 

Captain Godfrey Snow 194 

Duncan House and Children 195 

My Brother 197 

My Son 200 

Infant Twin-brothers 201 

Thomas Miller 204 

Merrit Scoggin 205 

Mrs, Julia L. Dumont 207 

Clark J. Durham 209 

Noyes and Crouch 210 

Gilbert Angevine.. 214 

Johnny B. Sheldon 216 

Mrs. M. J West 217 

Johnny Stevenson 218 

44 



522 INDEX. 

PAGE 

The Suicide 220 

Lament 221 

John Arami Cotton 223 

OBITUAKIES. ^ 

The Grave 224 

Robert Sunman 225 

Thomas Watts 226 

Dr. Cullen Crookshank 226 

David Conger. 227 

Several Little Children... 227 

Mrs. E. M. Piatt 229 

Mrs. Phoebe Cotton 231 

Several Young Ladies 231 

EPITAPHS. 

Epitaphs 234 

MISCELLANEOUS. 

An Indian's Grave 238 

Cherished Pupils 240 

The Squirrel 242 

Mount Abram 243 

My Native State 245 

Mount Bradbury 246 

The Lovers 247 

Retort 250 

Bunker Hill Monument 251 

The Weathervane 252 

The Forest Oak 254 

New Year's Addresses ;... 256 

Steamboat Red Stone 263 

The Snow Bird 266 

A Lock of Hair 268 



INDEX. 523 

PA.GI! 

Farewell to Maine 270 

Niagara Falls 272 

Ohio Eiver 274 

Albums 274 

Acrostics 277 

Moore's Hill College 280 

AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

Autobiography 285 

War of 1812 293 

A Night with a Bear 301 

" " " '' Panther 303 

Marriage 311 

A Candidate 314 

An Editor 314 

Bar Meeting 317 

Law Notice 324 

Hairbreadth Escapes 33d 

Portland 334 

A Tempest on the Ocean 340 

Ministerial Success 344 

A Politician 346 

Complimentary Notices 347 

The Means resorted to 350 

Pleasantries 351 

Thought 354 

The Footing up 355 

The Boquet 359 

A Ghost Story 361 

Conclusion 366 



524 INDEX. 

HISTORY. 

PAQK 

History 367 

Journal 370 

Ferris' School-house 372 

Hardensburgh 373 

New LaAvrenceburgh 375 

Lawrenceburgh City 378 

Aurora City 384 

Fremont School-house 387 

Hartford 388 

Milton 389 

Bear Creek Church 390 

Hart's Mill 393 

Cole's Chapel 394 

Dilsborough 395 

Mount Tabor 396 

Tufft'8 School-house 397 

Trester's School-house 398 

Wilmington 398 

Sinai Chapel 401 

Sparta ; 402 

Moore's Hill .• 403 

Chesterville 405 

Sparta Church F. B 405 

Green Chapel 406 

Elrod 406 

Stringtown 406 

Pierceville 407 

Delaware 407 

Prattsburgh 408 

Milan 408 



INDEX. 525 

PAGE 

Peckham's School-house 409 

ClintoQ 410 

0. Ileustis' Inn 411 

Pleasantview 413 

Durham's Mill 416 

Bruce's School-house 416 

Ebenezer Church 417 

Worley's School-house 418 

Fowler's " 419 

Wright's Corner 422 

Stone Chapel 425 

Yorkville 429 

Vanhorn's School-house 432 

Sawdon's " 436 

Grubb's " 437 

Guilford 438 

Cambridge 440 

Salt Fork Church 442 

Wesley Chapel 444 

Bonham's School-house , 447 

Sugar Grove Church >.. 447 

Elizabethtown 448 

Locust Grove 450 

Burk's School-house 451 

Harrison .*. 454 

Chapelow's School-house 456 

Baldridge's " 456 

Logan. 457 

Dover 458 

Lawrenceville 458 



526 INDEX. 

PAGE 

Pennsylvaniabiirgh 459 

Bubble's Corner 461 

Mule town 463 

Manchester 474 

Two Wolves 482 

The Fugitives 484 

A Kiss 487 

Reflections 489 

Kind Words 490 

Progress 493 

Eeview 495 

California Letters 499 

Conclusion 506 

The Sweets and Ills of Life 511 



THE END- 



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